Shadows
by AyJay
Summary: A haunting scream from the past, the malevolent whisper from damned lips and a troubled dream puts Dean back on a destined path. A path he and Sam must take to save someone who believes all is lost. A path that's mapped out in shadows. Sequel to Echo.
1. Echoes

(Disclaimer: Don't own anything Supernatural related. The character of 'Eden', belongs to me.)

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**SHADOWS.**

**Chapter One.**

The cold metal of the gun was now warm in her hands. She held it almost lovingly, staring at it like an oracle that would give her the answers she needed. But it had only one answer for her; the only answer it _ever_ offered – swift, merciful death…if she wanted it. And right now, she _desperately _wanted it. More than anything, Eden Rafferty wanted her life to be over.

She released a sigh as she disassembled the pistol quickly, cleaned it and reassembled it without looking. She'd done it a thousand times before. She knew the weapon intimately; but the last thing she needed was for her gun to jam. It'd be just her luck for it to misfire and turn her into a vegetable.

She thought about leaving a note but …to whom? She'd never had anyone she could rely on, anyone to turn to; she'd only just discovered she had a father. and she could _not _go to him, not with this. She wasn't bitter about that, about any of it; it was just the way things were. Sometimes, it was better that way. And it _was_ better…_safer, _if Eden Rafferty was just a name on a headstone; an unremembered life. It was no less than she deserved.

She raised the pistol, the metal tang of the barrel as it slipped between her lips bringing memories of the times she'd done this before…only difference this time, was that a bullet was jacked into the chamber. Hollow point, just to be sure. She closed her eyes; the image of her father's smiling face floating before her as she applied gentle pressure to the trigger. Slow and steady, that was the way, no faltering.

Just a little more pressure….a little more….

The barrel slid from her lips; the front-sight clicking against her teeth as she lowered her hand. Her thumb automatically slipped the safety on before she let the weapon fall to the badly stained carpet at her feet. She rested her head in her hands, her shoulders slumping as her mind screamed at the denial of the sweet oblivion it craved.

She'd failed…again. What a surprise. But it was something she was getting used to. And, really, this was just another failed suicide attempt in a long line of failed attempts. She picked up her phone from the cigarette-scarred side-table and looked at the only three numbers it held. She scrolled down, her thumb hovering over the send button for a moment before she sighed and snapped the phone shut. What was she going to say? _'Hey Dean. Long time, no see. Almost blew my brains out a minute go. Wanna grab a beer? _Yeah, that'd go over a treat.

She flopped back on the musty bed of the dingy motel; staring at the cracks that cob-webbed over the ceiling. The fractures in the paint matching the fractures that had been running through her mind the last couple of years; well to be fair, it had probably only been this _last_ year. She let out a hollow laugh; well _that _made it _so _much better. It had only been a _year _in which she'd been losing her mind. Losing her mind and leaving a trail of bodies in her wake.

She sat up slowly and opened the drawer to the side-table; she scribbled a quick note and placed it under her phone. She picked up the pistol from the floor and flicked the safety off; this time, no hesitations.

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"DROP, SAM!"

Sam hit the deck; the sound of buckshot blasting over his head was almost deafening in the small confines of the room. The shriek of the spirit as it was hit by the rock-salt brought a smile to Sam's lips as he jumped to his feet.

"GO, SAMMY!"

Sam grabbed the shovel and slammed it against the floor boards again and again, the loud cracks of the wood splintering, sounding ominously around the room.

"C'mon, Sammy…" Dean muttered as his eyes moved relentlessly around the dusty old cabin. "Where are you, bitch…" he murmured.

Sam raised his foot and slammed his boot down on the floorboards until they fractured under the savage effort. He didn't feel the broken wood tear his jeans and scrape up his shin; nor did he feel the splinters that pierced his hands as he ripped the broken floorboards free.

"You sure she's under there?" asked Dean as he swept the shotgun around the room; the bitch wasn't finished with them, not yet.

Sam knelt and wrenched the last of the wood free, throwing them to far side of the room as Dean kicked the duffel bag towards him. "She's in here, alright," muttered Sam as the beams of the flashlight splashed over the empty eye-sockets of the skull.

"God_damn," _laughed Dean, "I thought you were shitting me about the 'Prom Queen' bit…"

Sam grabbed the salt from the bag and scattered it over the bones of Jennifer Nicholson; Prom Queen, cheerleader, straight 'A' student ….and former necromancer. He turned to the yell of his brother and watched as Dean was pitched across the room, slamming against the wall, the shotgun discharging on impact.

Sam rose and took a step towards his brother as a streak of white and pink flashed between him and Dean. He yelled as a burst of rock-salt hit him in his shoulder.

"SAMMY!" Dean yelled as he saw his brother go down, sprawling across the hole in the floor. He turned his eyes to the advancing spirit; "Bitch," he growled, raising the shotgun to her manic laugh.

"I'm looking for a new _host!" _she hissed; her pink dress billowing out behind her.

"Host or date?" asked Dean with a grin as his finger tensed on the trigger.

She laughed as he was thrown to the other side of the room; his head banging painfully against the wall. He shook off the darkness that started to creep into his vision and roared as he saw the skank's ghostly fingers tangle into Sam's hair, pulling his brother's head back as her fingers snake around Sam's throat.

"LEAVE HIM THE HELL ALONE!!"

He threw himself at the necromancer, ripping Sam from her grasp as she put the shotgun to her face. "BURN THE BITCH, SAM!"

Dean grinned as he heard the hiss of lighter fluid and the familiar flick of the Zippo. The grin soon died on his lips as the necromancer unhinged her jaw and slipped her lips over the barrel of the shotgun, her malevolent eyes fixed on his.

Her jaw opened wider as a howl erupted from her; the heat at his back from the burning of the bones, mirroring the flames that now licked at the spectre in front of him. But it barely registered as her last words drifted through the howl…

"_They're free. But are you?"_

The shotgun blast echoed loudly in his ears.

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Sam watched his brother throw back shot after shot of tequila; completely ignoring the lustful glances of the bartender as she refilled his glass. Sam ordered two more beers as he studied Dean; his brother was studiously ignoring him, his foot tapping away in time to Metallica's _'Don't Tread On Me' _that was blasting to almost deafening, from the jukebox.

"So, you have any idea what she meant?" Sam asked loudly as he grabbed his beer.

Dean threw back the shot and signalled for another; "She was a spirit, dude. They talk shit, you know that."

"Uh huh," Sam muttered in reply to Dean's lie. He shook his head; "Dude, don't tell me you weren't freaked out when she put the barrel..." he shook his head again at the memory of it. A ghost eating a shotgun?

Dean shrugged as his eyes scanned the over-crowded bar; "So 'Carrie' wanted to swallow; that's what prom queens do, right?"

"Dean…"

Dean threw back the shot and headed over to the pool tables. Sam sighed inwardly as he watched his brother's retreating form. Dean knew _exactly _what the spirit had meant by those words; he'd seen the recognition of it on his brother's face. He sipped at his beer as he watched Dean go into the all-too-familiar behaviour of the hustle; the missed shots, the first lost game; the apologetic smile and the too loud laugh as he sunk the almost impossible shot on the black. _Here we go, _thought Sam as he saw Dean grin at the gargantuan his brother had just hustled out of a stack of cash.

A wink to Sam and the sly smile that spread across Dean's lips; was a sign Sam knew all too well.

He sighed as he finished the dregs of his beer and put the bottle on the bar; he pushed through the crowd as his brother threw the first punch.

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Dean sat on the musty bed of the latest crappy motel, his head hung, his hands clasped between his knees as he tried to steady his breathing, The flickering light from the street lamp created a staccato of shadows in the room; dancing over his well-muscled torso that was now slick with sweat. He ran a hand through his hair; his eyes flicking to the sleeping form of his brother.

He frowned at the bruise that was starting to form on Sam's jaw, and pushed down the anger that welled inside him at the sight of it. Sam had got it when trying to pull Dean off the yokel that had called him on the hustling. He pursed his lips, his breath blowing out in a rush as he relived the uncontrollable fury that had raged through him. He was pretty sure if Sam's hadn't managed to free the bastard, he'd have killed him.

He dropped his gaze to his grazed knuckles; hitting the man hadn't helped ease the disquiet that had been swirling through him since _those _words, had drifted around the barrel of the shotgun. How could that bitch have known? How could she have known those were _his _words; spoken quietly almost two years ago, to someone who hadn't heard them.

He lifted his phone from the side-table between his and Sam's bed and scrolled to the number he needed; a number he'd never dialled…well dialled, yeah…just never hit the send button. He knew his brother had, but he also knew the call had never been answered.

He snapped the phone shut and threw it angrily at his bag, cursing to himself as it bounced off the material and smacked against the wall. Great. He stood and padded quietly over to it, picking it up and checking to make sure the damn thing still worked. He turned and threw the phone into his bag, and spied the gun that was nestled on the top of his last Zeppelin t-shirt. He only had the one left now; he'd given his other one away.

His fingers brushed over the cold metal, his eyes focussed on the t-shirt underneath as his mind drifted to that last contact; to things left unsaid, to promises not made…to his refusal to acknowledge the debt owed. A debt he knew she didn't think he owed. But one he carried with him. For him _and_ for Sam.

A small frown creased his brow as he heard the echo of that scream; the scream he'd heard but knew she was yet to utter. The scream that occasionally visited him in his dreams. The scream that had him waking in a cold sweat, her name on his lips as he fought the name back, trying desperately not to wake his brother. The scream that howled out in anguished pain.

His hand closed over the pistol as he rose; going to the bed and sitting on the end of it as he turned the weapon over in his hands; the echo of that scream now an unending aria that claimed his mind.

The cold metal of the gun was now warm in his hands. He held it almost lovingly, staring at it like an oracle that would give him the answers he needed. But it had only one answer for him; the only answer it _ever_ offered – swift, merciful death…if he wanted it. And right now, he _desperately _wanted it. More than anything, Dean Winchester wanted his life to be over.

He ran a hand through his short, dark-blonde hair; releasing a sigh as he disassembled the pistol quickly, cleaned it and reassembled it without looking. He'd done it a thousand times before. He knew the weapon intimately; he knew _all _his weapons intimately. But the last thing he needed was for his gun to jam. It'd be just his luck for it to misfire, turning him into a vegetable and screwing up Sam's life more than he already had.

He thought about leaving a note, but there was nothing he could say to his brother that he hadn't already. It was better…_safer, _if Dean Winchester was just a name on a headstone; an unremembered life. It was no less than he deserved.

He raised the pistol, the metal tang of the barrel as it slipped between his lips bringing memories of the times he'd done this before…only difference this time, was that a bullet was jacked into the chamber. Hollow point, just to be sure. He closed his eyes, the image of Sam's grinning face floating before him as he applied gentle pressure to the trigger. Slow and steady, that was the way, no faltering.

Just a little more pressure….a little more….

His eyes snapped open as he felt a hand rest gently over his; a finger slipping into the trigger and blocking that last, final squeeze. His shoulders slumped as his mind screamed at the denial of the sweet oblivion it craved.

The gun was removed slowly, the front-sight clicking against his teeth as the pistol was lowered. His thumb automatically slipped the safety on, the weapon now dangling uselessly from his fingers as he looked into the troubled green eyes of his saviour.

"Help me…" the pain-filled whisper barely sliding from his lips.

"It is not you that needs help, Dean Winchester," she said as she placed a warm, tender hand to his face; the other taking the gun from him.

"Eden…" he murmured; knowing that was of whom she spoke.

She nodded slowly, her eyes fixed on his; "She's in danger, child. More than we ever expected."

"Who's after her?" he asked, his voice growing stronger with each moment spent in her presence.

"The Shadows."

Dean frowned in confusion; "Shadows? I don't …"

"The _shadows, _child," she interrupted, her form starting to shimmer around the edges, to slowly fade as the darkness of the room took hold of her. "The _shadows..."_

He wanted more answers, answers to a million questions that were now firing rapidly through his mind. But he could see she didn't have the time to answer them all before she was recalled. So he asked the one he desperately needed an answer to; "Tell me where she is, Selah."

Her face filled with sadness, as she slowly vanished; her words a haunting whisper that drifted over him, "That is just it, Dean Winchester, we cannot _find_ her."

_**To be continued…**_


	2. What's in a Name?

(Disclaimer: Don't own anything Supernatural related. The character of 'Eden', belongs to me.)

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**SHADOWS.**

**Chapter Two.**

Sam stretched, a small groan escaping his lips as the bruised ribs he'd received in last night's bar fight screamed for remembrance. "I hear ya, I hear ya," he muttered, gingerly inspecting the offending ribs. Shit, at least one was cracked. Awesome.

He rubbed the last vestiges of sleep from his eyes and turned his head, his body jerking a little as he saw his brother sitting in one of the chairs at the table, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together ...and staring intently at him.

"Jesus!" Sam exclaimed, sitting up quickly, "Do you _know _how creepy that is?"

"Get dressed. We're moving out," ordered Dean as he stood, "I'm packed and in the car." He moved towards the door; "Five minutes, Sam," he barked another order as he closed the door behind him.

"What the _hell?"_ Sam muttered as he grabbed his jeans from the end of his bed and slipped them on. He quickly threw the rest of his gear into his bag and put his pistol at the small of his back; he hadn't heard that tone in his brother's voice for a long time. This wasn't just business, this was _personal. _And the only 'personal' he and Dean had, was Bobby. _Shit._ He grabbed his boots and jogged out the door, slamming it behind him as he slid into the waiting Impala.

His ass had barely made contact with the seat before Dean had his foot on the accelerator and the car was screaming out of the parking lot. "Bobby?" asked Sam urgently as he threw his bag into the backseat.

"No."

Sam frowned as he slipped his boots on, trying to think of anyone else that'd get to Dean like this. "Ellen?" he finally asked.

"No," Dean replied, his eyes locked on the road in front of him.

Sam ran an expert eye over his brother; barely disguised tension in his arms and shoulders, death-grip on the steering wheel, eyes glaring at the road in front of him, and a grinding jaw. His frown deepened; and all of that coupled with the lack of music playing in the car…whatever it was, was bad.

"Dean, tell me what's going on, dude. Where are we going?"

Dean pushed his foot down further, the Impala responding beautifully as she leapt forward, her engine growling down the blacktop, but before he could answer, both his and Sam's phones rang. They glanced at each other; not good.

Sam grabbed his phone; "Bobby," he whispered to Dean as his brother answered his call. He flicked the phone open, his stomach sinking as he watched a change came over his brother. "Bobby, hang on a minute..." Sam dropped the phone away from his ear, "Dean?"

He grabbed at the dashboard as Dean threw his phone to the floor and pulled on the handbrake, turning the Impala into a 180° spin. "JESUS!" he yelled, dropping his phone as Dean slammed his foot down on the accelerator. The car's tyres spun, smoke drifting around the Impala before the rubber found purchase and they roared back the way they'd come.

"Tell Bobby we'll meet him there," Dean ordered, "And tell him to bring everything's he's got."

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The shadows moved over the walls; whispering in and out of the cracks as they tried to take form. An elongated hand here, a bulbous head there; the dank walls a fractured canvass on which the shadows slithered into existence.

No light was needed to enact their creation; light was their enemy, it stole their bodies, eating away at their form and forcing them back into the dark recesses in which they lived. It was the darkness that breathed life into them; moulded every inky silhouette, and gave them the blackened souls for which they yearned. It was their god and they were its obedient soldiers. Soldiers with orders.

They washed along the walls like a rolling tide, moving slowly but relentlessly forward as they spied their prey. It didn't matter where she went, how hard she tried to hide…they would find her; driving her slowly into madness, for _that _was food that sustained them. But this one was entrée, main meal and desert all rolled into one. She held her own darkness, and she'd been touched by the darkness of others. She was a delicious mix of light trying to fight the darkness within…and she was unlike those they normally fed from. _This _one was a mouth-watering mix of _two _worlds.

They would take their time as they slowly feasted on her.

They began their subtle taunting; a brief movement on her periphery before fading into nothingness; a shifting of the shadows on the other side of her; a glimpse of a bony, elongated finger beckoning her; the almost familiar profile of one of 'her' victims. They danced around her vision, a deep chuckle whispering over her like an intimate confidence; letting her know it _knew _what she'd done and it was _pleased. _

They increased their tempo, flashing across her line of sight with increased vigour; her outstretched hand touching nothing but empty air as they skittered past; her whimper a musical note on the stale air of the room.

Not long now.

Just one final push…

A howling visage screamed into her face; jaws unhinged, eye sockets that held nothing but black, swirling depths of oblivion. A promise of what was to come.

Auburn, sweat-soaked hair was plastered to an ashen face as the pistol was forced between pale lips; eyes were held wide with terror as the metal was pushed against the roof of the mouth. Slow and steady…no faltering…that was the way. But she did falter, just a little…but the shadowy hand that crept over her trembling one, and the ebony skeletal finger that slid over her trigger-finger went unnoticed as it applied the pressure for her.

She closed her eyes.

She didn't hear the shot.

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It had taken just over three hours to drive to the town; and most of that drive had been filled with silence. Dean would give very little away, and that bothered Sam. And there was a heap of stuff bothering him at the moment. Firstly, that spirit had said something to his brother, something that had bothered Dean so much, he'd taken it out on some yokels in a bar. And that freaky staring thing he'd had going on this morning…and now this.

"You sure about the name?" Sam asked.

Dean turned his head slowly to his brother, "No, Sammy," he deadpanned.

"Winchester, Virginia."

"That's what he said."

Sam shook his head and dropped his gaze to the map on his lap, "Alright, next exit," he folded the map and threw it into the glovebox. He didn't need it, he'd memorised the way to the motel.

The Impala slowed, the brothers inspecting the town that held their name. 'Winchester, Virginia' was a paradox. There was a vitality about the town that was evidenced by the amount of well dressed people milling around stores, smiling and laughing; others on their way somewhere with a dance in their step. The stores were all in immaculate condition and Dean was sure there wasn't a car here that was worth less than fifty grand. But every now and then, there was the glimpse of an anomaly; the homeless man hurrying through the cheery throng, wary of touching anyone; the broken and graffiti-covered bus stop in front of a gleaming storefront; the slowly dying tree amidst blooming flowers.

And then there was them. Two strangers who growled through their town in a black beast that rumbled its arrival well before it appeared; prowling down the main street like a predator looking for prey.

The silence that now filled the car was like another passenger. A _dark _passenger whose presence weighed heavily on the both of them, moreso the closer they got to the motel. And the closer they got to the motel, the more the paradox switched. The freshly painted stores petered out, replaced by 'out-of-business' signs and the crumbling façades of brick buildings. Weathered homes with lights shining brightly within; a dingy gas station with a fully packed diner; a homeless woman sitting on the front step of a dazzlingly painted cottage. The old and the new were at war here; each fighting for their right to survive in a town whose name alone was explosive.

Sam pointed and Dean made the turn, spotting the motel immediately. The red and blue flashing lights like an ominous beacon in the shadow filled street. They made their way slowly towards the motel, getting ready to lie their way through the questions as to why they were here, but Bobby must have told the cops they were coming and they were allowed to pull into the motel without question.

Dean drove slowly into the lot, his eyes taking in _everything _with a single glance. He drove past three marked and one unmarked police cars; the staccato of red and blue, an eerie cadence against the peeling paint of the rundown motel with the garish neon-sign, _'Paradise Motel'_. A small frown creased his brow, something was niggling at the back of his mind, but he knew if he concentrated on it, it wouldn't come. Instead, he concentrated on what was happening _outside; _it would come when it was ready.

He refocussed; his eyes scanning the lot. There were cops scattered about, some talking to guests as they nodded dutifully and scribbled in their notebooks; while others held back the crowd of morbid onlookers who were craning their necks trying to get a look into the room.

Dean's jaw clenched; assholes. He could see the bystanders talking excitedly amongst themselves; this was going to be a great story they could tell their families when they got home from their crappy holiday. He was sure they had their phones set to 'camera' on the off-chance they could get a 'happy snap' out of the whole situation. Ghouls. It just reinforced his belief; demons he got, people he didn't. And this was part of the reason why.

He steered the Impala towards the far side of the lot and parked next to Bobby's truck. He eased the door open and slammed it shut, nodding at Bobby who was leaning against the hood of his car, waiting for them. His cap was pulled low on his head and his arms were crossed over his chest as he surveyed not only them but those within the parking lot.

"Boys," he nodded.

"You been in?" Dean asked.

"Waiting for you. Cops are waiting as well," he looked at the brothers, "They haven't moved…"

"Lets just do this and get the hell out of here," Dean interrupted, turning on his heel and heading towards the motel.

Bobby grabbed him by the shoulder; "Dean…" he looked between the brothers, "Boys, this isn't gonna be pretty, you know that. Let _me_ do this, you wait out here and…"

"No," they said in unison; a glance and a nod to each other all they needed to know they were on the same page. They headed towards the yellow crime-scene tape; Bobby sighing and following closely behind as they moved towards a lone police officer near the motel's office.

Dean was stopped by the cop who didn't look old enough to drive, let alone carry a gun. "Step back, sir. This…" he pointed pompously to the tape, "is a _crime _scene."

Dean's stared at the cop's hand that rested on his arm, slowly raising his eyes to him as the hand was nervously removed. He glared at the _boy _in front of him; "Listen here, _Smokey_. Step outta my way or I'll stick _…"_

"We're here to see Detective…Whittingham," Sam interrupted quickly; stepping between Dean and the cop who didn't know whether to wet himself or pull his gun. "He's expecting us."

"Oh, you're…." he nodded knowingly, a look of pity clouding his eyes as he stared at them. He lifted the tape, "Go through…I'm real so…."

"Speak _again_ and I'll slowly strangle you with your _crime scene _tape," Dean menaced as he walked past; resisting the urge to beat the shit out of the man.

Sam put his hand on Dean's shoulder and pushed him forward; "Dean, you gotta calm down. We can't draw attention to ourselves. We do this, then we leave," he whispered; Dean giving a short, sharp nod. "You sure they don't know our surnames?"

"Positive," Dean replied as he stopped a few feet from the door of the open motel room. He couldn't see much of anything bar people moving around the room and the occasional camera flash. He flicked his eyes to dark haired man in his late forties who stepped out of the room. He was dressed in the clichéd detective suit. but the man was easily 6'5'' and about as wide.

The man turned and spotted them; cocking his head as he headed over; "Dean Hetfield?" he asked. Dean nodded; stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets so he wouldn't have to shake the cop's hand. "I'm Detective Joel Whittingham." He looked at Sam and raised an eyebrow.

"Sam Hetfield," he shook the detective's hand.

The detective looked at all three men and sighed inwardly; he hated this part of the job. "Look, I don't know why you insisted on meeting me here. But Mr Townshend said …" he glanced at Bobby, then the two men, he couldn't read _any _of them; they were giving nothing away except a stubbornness that was evident in their stance. He was going to have trouble talking them out of this. He cleared his throat; "Anyway…we could just as easily have done this at the station…"

"We do things differently," Dean stated.

Joel Whittington nodded slowly; he was sure they did, but he also understood that grief made you act irrationally and that you sometimes regretted the decisions you made when engulfed by it. "I'm not sure you should go in. It's not something…"

"_We'll _decide what we see and what we don't," said Dean. "You mind?" He stepped past Detective Whittingham and walked purposefully towards the door. Slow and steady, that was the way, no faltering. But his step _did _falter a little as those words whispered through his mind, the same words that had sighed through him last night as he'd slipped the pistol between his lips.

He didn't take a deep breath as he stepped over the threshold; short shallow ones were what you took when you entered a bloodied crime scene. He ignored the eyes that all turned to him as he entered; harnessed the pity he saw in those eyes and turned it into fuel for his anger; who were _they _to pity him? He knew it was irrational anger directed at someone who was oblivious to it; but it was what it was. And he knew that once he saw the consequences of that one, stupid action, his anger would boil over. But he had to see.

He slowly raised his eyes to the bed; the camera flash imprinting the scene onto his retina's. The dull tan blanket was pushed to the end of the bed, the almost white sheets still holding the vague impression of its last occupant…the thin pillow and the faded yellow headboard splattered with blood…and …more.

A black zippered bag lay near the bed; the shapeless form held within it giving nothing away. But it was the final piece of a bloodied puzzle he still couldn't put together. He turned to the sound of a voice at his shoulder; dragging his eyes from the plastic tomb.

"We found the note under the phone...your numbers were the only one's listed," the detective said quietly. He passed a plastic baggie to Dean, "It's addressed to you, son."

Dean reached a tentative hand towards the bag, his fingers rustling the plastic as he took it. He went to the far side of the room, turning his back on everyone before finally dropping his eyes to the note…the blood spattered note.

_Dean,_

_I'm sorry…but I had no one else to leave this to. Well, no one who would maybe understand what I've done._

_Don't look for anything behind this, this was all me. I had no choice, Dean. It was the only way to stop it…to stop the shadows. They're everywhere I look and everywhere I don't…and I can't live with it anymore. And neither can others._

_I should never have started looking for her...but it doesn't matter anymore. None of it does. _

_Do you remember that conversation we had? Well, I'm free now, Dean, like Micah and Isaac. Bury me with them, __please__. I don't want to go home, I don't belong there…and I don't really belong here either but … at least it's over now. Tell Sam I'm sorry I didn't answer his calls, I wanted to, but I couldn't. Tell him the armour finally cracked, he'll understand what I mean._

_You're his watcher, Dean, you always have been. But he's also __yours__. Remember that._

_Eden._

Dean read the note over and over; shadows. That's what Selah had said to him last night; but it still didn't make any sense to him. And each re-read of the note only brought disbelief with it. This wasn't _like _her. These weren't the words of the Watcher he knew. The Eden _he_ knew wouldn't take the easy way out. He turned back to the room, his eyes going to the detective, "You sure it's her?"

"We'll need a positive ID, but that may be a little….difficult." He paused; "Do you know where we could get …dental records, it would…"

"I'll do it," Dean stated.

Detective Whittingham stepped towards Dean; "Mr Hetfield, I'm not sure you realise what we're dealing with here. I've seen the body and…"

"I'll _do _it," Dean intoned angrily. "And I know _exactly _what we're dealing with here," he stared defiantly at the man. "What'd she use?"

"Mr Hetfield…"

"Make and model," Dean demanded.

"Colt M1911, semi-automatic."

"Pearl grips?" Sam asked.

Whittingham nodded, watching the brother's glance at each other, an unspoken communication going on between the two. Interesting.

"Where's her bag?" Dean asked.

The detective shook his head; "There was no bag. All we found was the note, gun and phone. Nothing else."

"Brown leather satchel," said Sam. "About yay big," he motioned with his hands.

"No. Only what I told you. Are you sure?"

"She never went anywhere without it," replied Sam. He glanced at Dean, he was sure he was wearing the same expression his brother was; something was off here.

Bobby stepped in front of the detective; blocking his line of sight to the boys. "Who found her?"

"Manager. The couple in the next room notified him when they heard the …shot. He's still in shock, he was in no shape to steal anything from here."

"Yeah, we'll see," muttered Bobby.

Detective Whittingham turned his attention to Dean who was intently focussed on the body bag; "Are you sure you want to…"

Dean stepped past him and walked to the body bag; "I'm sure."

Sam turned to the detective, his jaw clenched; "You think you could clear the room? We'd rather not do this in _front _of a crowd of onlookers."

Detective Whittingham nodded; motioning to those in the room to leave. Dean, Sam and Bobby waited til all but the detective and a forensics expert remained. Dean nodded at the man and he crouched, putting a hand to the zipper and glancing up at the three men.

"We haven't had the chance to …"

"Just do it," said Bobby.

The man nodded and pulled at the zipper; the slow click of the fasteners teeth sounding like the breaking of small fingers. The man glanced at them one more time before opening the bag; Dean closed his eyes when he saw the damage the bullet had caused. He took a shallow breath, he had to be sure. He opened his eyes and crouched next to the bag; the same dark auburn hair…but the face…he couldn't tell.

"If it's any consolation," the attendant said softly, "It was instantaneous."

Dean raised his eyes to the man; "Yeah, that makes all the difference in the freakin' world. I'll be having dreams of fairies and unicorns now."

"I'll leave you with…her…" said the man as he rose and stepped over to the detective.

"Idiot," Dean muttered. His gaze went back to the body; "Jesus…" he looked over as Sam crouched next to him. "I can't tell," he whispered.

Sam nodded slowly; as his gaze travelled over what was left of….he didn't want to believe that this was Eden, but…. "Her eyes," Sam whispered.

"No, Sam. You won't …" Bobby shook his head as he crouched on the other side of the bag. "No." He could see where the blood had run from the eyes; they'd be nothing but a pulverised mess.

"Dean's right, we need to know for _sure, _Bobby," Sam whispered again.

"Hell, son. The note, the phone, the gun she used…the hair's the same…it's her," said Bobby softly. "I know neither of you want to believe it…but…"

"The scar," said Dean. "Help me turn her, Sammy."

"_What?" _asked Sam as he turned incredulous eyes to his brother.

"_Turn _her. If it's Eden, she'll have that mark on her back."

"Dean, there's a cop standing just over there. We can't be rolling the body around…"

"I'll do it then," he pulled the zipper down the rest of the way, frowning as he realised she was naked. How many people off'd themselves in the buff? He turned to the detective, "Where are her clothes?"

"She wasn't wearing any," he said quietly. "We haven't found them, either."

Dean turned back, noticing the frown on Bobby's face as that piece of information sunk in; yeah, something wasn't quite right and Bobby was starting to come around to their way of thinking. He slipped his hands into the bag and under the body.

"HEY! What're you doing?" the attendant yelled as he ran over. "You can't just …"

"Shut up!" Dean angered as he turned the body on its side; the three of them ducking their heads as they looked at the small of the back. Dean lowered the body carefully and turned to the attendant; "Leave us alone."

"Is it…"

"I SAID LEAVE US THE FUCK ALONE!"

The man retreated quickly, heading for the sanctuary of the giant detective; he'd seen something in the man's eyes that you didn't mess with. He'd borne the brunt of the aggrieved before and he didn't want to do it again, especially not with this one.

Dean waited til the attendant was on the other side of the room before turning to Sam and Bobby; "We're in a heap of trouble."

"No shit," muttered Sam.

_**To be continued…**_


	3. The Slowly Creeping Hand

(Disclaimer: Don't own anything Supernatural related. The character of 'Eden', belongs to me.)

(A/N: The lyrics used in the latter part of this chapter are from the Powderfinger song, 'These Days'.)

* * *

**SHADOWS.**

**Chapter Three.**

The door to the motel room burst open, the wood rattling in the frame as Bobby slammed it shut behind him. He glared past the muzzle of the pistol, waiting for Dean to lower it. He ground his teeth, watching as the boy put slowly returned the pistol to the small of his back before leaning casually against the wall, wearing that look of stubborn defiance that Bobby knew all too well.

"Have you lost your _mind, _boy?"

Dean's eyes narrowed, his jaw clenching as he returned Bobby's glare; "Don't start."

"_Are_ you insane, Dean? I'm asking in all seriousness, son, because what you did back there…" he shook his head; "was flat-out looney tunes."

Dean pushed himself from the wall and stepped towards Bobby; "What I _did, _was get us out of there with our asses intact!"

"Have you even _thought _this through?" Bobby asked. "At all?" He shook his head with a laugh; "Tell me, what are you gonna do with the body when you have to claim it? You think of _that _when you told the _detective _it was Eden!"

"What the hell else was he supposed to do?" asked Sam angrily as he rose from the table and stepped beside his brother; "_Everything _pointed to it being her! The note, the gun…shit, she even _looked _like Eden!"

"IT WASN'T EDEN!" Bobby yelled. "You _knew _it wasn't her and you said it was!" He began to pace; "Oh, we're in deep shit," he muttered. "Idjits. Goddamn _idjits…_"

"He had no _choice, _Bobby!" angered Sam. "We were crouched over a body that every cop in the place believed was Eden, what should we have said? Sorry, my bad. We'll see ourselves out. How the hell were we gonna explain it with_out_ ending up in jail?"

Bobby's eyes flicked to Dean; the boy's uncharacteristic silence hadn't gone unnoticed. "And not having them hunt Eden for murder. That's really what this is about, isn't it?" he asked. He looked Dean in the eye; "You're protecting her."

"Eden didn't kill that woman," stated Dean firmly. "It was a suicide."

"Suicide," mused Bobby. "An unknown woman with the same build and hair as Eden, commits _suicide_ with Eden's gun," he looked at Dean; "the gun _you _gave her. This same unknown woman then writes a note _to _you and signs Eden's name to it. And let's not forget the conveniently placed phone with our numbers in it. _Only _our numbers."

Dean shook his head, a small laugh escaping him; "You think she set us up."

Bobby said nothing as he stared between the two Winchester boys.

"Are you _serious?" _Sam asked incredulously. "This is _Eden _we're talking about!"

Bobby ignored Sam and focussed on Dean; _he _was the one running this. "What did the note say _exactly, _Dean."

Dean shrugged; "Not a lot. Just that she was sorry for not answering Sammy's calls and that she wanted to be buried with Micah and Isaac. That's it."

"Bullshit."

Dean's jaw set; he turned to Sam; "I'll be back," he said as he grabbed his jacket.

"And just _where _do you think you're going?" asked Bobby as he stood in front of Dean; blocking his route to the door.

Dean glared at his long-time friend; "Away from you before I put you on your ass." He glanced at Sam before pushing past Bobby, slamming the door behind him.

"Sam…"

"Leave him the hell alone," Sam ordered as he went to the bathroom and slammed the door.

"Great."

* * *

Dean's boots echoed dully down the darkened, empty street; his hands were jammed into his jacket pockets, his shoulders hunched as he made his indirect but determined way back to the motel. He pushed the image of the shattered face from his mind as he went over the words Eden had written in the note. Well it was just _one _word really; shadows. Selah had said the shadows were after Eden, and Eden had said the only way to stop them was by killing herself. But she _hadn't _killed herself. Someone else was dead.

There was no doubt in his mind that Eden had been in that room; the phone was the one he and Sam had given her, and the gun was also his. He knew Eden had written the note as well. He'd never told anyone about that conversation they'd had; and he was pretty damn sure she hadn't either.

So Eden had fully intended to kill herself…but someone had taken her place. Who the hell volunteers for a suicide? No one, that's who. This was a murder and they'd been pulled into the middle of it. His breath pushed out in a rush; Bobby was right; they _had _been set up. But it wasn't by Eden. No way.

He stopped at the corner and chanced a peek around; perfect; the back of the motel. There were no flashing red and blue lights; and from the few cars he could see parked near the motel, they were all empty. He lowered his head a little and walked casually around the corner; his eyes automatically taking in all of his surroundings

On his second pass, he ducked quickly behind the sparse line of trees that formed a ghostly sentry at the rear of the motel. He surveyed the area around the motel before moving quietly towards the darkened windows of the room Eden had occupied. He looked up to the sound of almost silent footsteps.

"You're not _in_ yet?" whispered Sam.

"Keep your panties on, Sammy," whispered Dean as he pried the small bathroom window open; sliding it aside soundlessly and slipping through quickly and quietly.

Sam pulled himself up and slid through feet first, his boots hitting the bath quietly as he pulled himself through, sliding the window shut behind him. He grabbed the flashlight from his jacket, shielding the glow with his hand as he followed Dean into the main room.

The smell was more acute now. The room had been sealed, the stagnate air creating a cloying miasma of blood and death that held an almost physical presence. The sensation of having to push through the stench was only reinforced by the shrouded light of their torches.

Dean put his hand briefly to his nose as he removed the EMF from his jacket while Sam started to look for any signs of something more than a huge freakin' coincidence here. He got it seconds later as the EMF began to scream. Dean silenced the machine quickly as both men went to the front window.

No movement.

"Well, that answers one question," whispered Sam. "But I can't find _any _trace of sulphur. None, dude."

"Then look harder," Dean intoned quietly; as he stepped towards the bed, avoiding the blood that had soaked into the carpet. He swept the flashlight under the bed; he knew the police would have gone over the place, but they may not have been as meticulous as they should have because they believed it was a suicide.

Only problem was, it was a _staged _suicide. Whether the woman had pulled the trigger herself or not; this was staged. He just didn't know _by _whom.

The easy explanation was Eden. But he understood better than most, that things were rarely what they seemed. And this just looked too…perfect. Too _polished._ He allowed himself a wry grin at that; the mess surrounding the bed was anything _but _polished. It was devastatingly messy; its impact meant to drive home the finality of the act. Only problem was, Eden would _know_ they'd check to make sure it was her; and that they'd know it wasn't. So what the hell had gone on here?

His flashlight dashed across a dark smudge at the base of the wall; he flicked the light back, reaching out a finger and scraping at the spot with his nail. He lifted it to his nose; not sulphur…it had the smell of …burned wood. But this wasn't a scorch mark. He took his phone from his pocket and moved it under the bed, snapping a photo of the mark.

"What?" Sam asked from the other side of the room.

"Not sure. Not sulphur though," Dean whispered as loud as he dared. "Anything?"

"Nothing," whispered Sam.

Dean stood slowly; his eyes scanning the walls; "Look for …scorch marks…" Dean instructed as he worked his way around the room.

"Look up," Sam finally murmured.

Dean raised his eyes and saw the indistinct marks of what looked like a horrifically disfigured hand sliding down the wall…well it did if you squinted and turned your head just so. But Sam had picked up on it as well.

"Can't take a photo, dude. And as freaky as that is," he pointed to the mark; "I think it's time we got the hell out of here," Sam whispered urgently.

Dean nodded; they'd got all they were gonna get without raising the alarm. They checked outside before slipping back out the way they'd come, undetected; keeping to the shadows as they made their silent way back to their own motel.

"There's no way we're getting out of this," Sam finally said. "We either get done for falsely identifying a body or… we end up with one." He sighed; "A body that more than likely has a family, Dean."

"You think I don't know that, Sammy? But what else was I supposed to do? We say it isn't Eden, we get more questions and the suicide starts looking like murder…"

"Which it probably is," Sam interrupted.

"_And," _Dean continued nonplussed, "we're stuck in a room with a shitload of cops and we aren't going _anywhere."_

"Shit, I know that, dude," said Sam with a sigh. He looked over at his brother; "What'd the note really say?"

"What I told you."

"Come on, Dean. I'm not stupid."

Dean jammed his hands in his jeans; not looking at his brother; "She said to tell you 'the armour finally cracked'. Said you'd know what that meant."

Sam nodded slowly as he remembered that conversation he'd had with Eden; but it had been _Dean _she'd been referring to when she'd said that. Not herself. "What else?"

"What'd she mean?" asked Dean, ignoring Sam's question.

Sam sighed; "Exactly what it sounds like. She couldn't take it any more. But Dean, _Eden _didn't die. What the hell's going on here? And don't start lying to me, you were worried _before _we got the phonecall about her."

"Seems strange how she chose _'Winchester_, Virginia' to do this," Dean dodged again. "And there's something about the name of the motel that's bugging the shit outta me."

"Paradise Motel? Are you kidding me?" Sam rolled his eyes at his brother; "What's another name for paradise, Dean?"

Dean glanced sheepishly at his brother; "Oh, yeah," he replied with a laugh.

Sam slapped his brother affectionately upside the head; "Just _ask _when you need help with words and shit," laughed Sam.

"Screw you, college-boy," Dean laughed in return as he gave his brother a shove.

"Alright, so that's confirmation that Eden _was _here. Well that plus the gun and phone," stated Sam; "You sure she wrote the note?"

Dean nodded; "No doubt about it."

"But…"

"I know."

They rounded the corner, stopping quickly and stepping back into the shadows as they noticed the unmarked police car parked out the front of their motel.

"We are so screwed;" whispered Sam.

* * *

Eden blinked her eyes, staring in confusion at the dancing light above her. Okay, she was awake. But it wasn't so much waking from a peaceful sleep, she hadn't had that in a long time; it was more of an awareness of self. She was _here _now…wherever the hell 'here' was.

She frowned as she felt a chilled breeze wash over her, the ghostly alabaster moon appearing briefly behind rustling leaves. Outside. She was outside. She pushed herself up from the ground and looked around. Woodland. No lights. She could hear the sound of cars in the distance, so she guessed she was maybe a mile from a road. She looked around and saw her satchel not far from her; she grabbed it quickly, taking out the Zeppelin t-shirt and slipping it over her vest. Time to get moving. She didn't like the dark.

She walked into the 24-hour diner fifteen minutes later, her head down as she went straight to the bathroom. She didn't look in the mirror as she washed her face; she hadn't been able to look into a mirror…into her own eyes for a long time. She wasn't going to start now.

She found a back booth and sat down as the waitress came over and pointed to a sign on the front window; "Sorry Miss, but we have a dress code, you need to wear shoes or you have to leave."

Eden looked at the sign and lowered her eyes; "Please, I just want a cup of coffee and I'll go. I promise," she whispered.

"Honey, if I let you in, then I'm gonna have to…"

"_Please," _Eden pleaded, raising her eyes to the woman; "I just want to sit in the light."

The waitress took in the young woman sitting in front of her; she looked past the too-big t-shirt, past the slumped the shoulders and pale skin, and into haunted eyes that seemed too old for her face.

"I just want to sit in the light," Eden begged.

"Okay, honey, okay. Just put your feet underneath you. I'll be back in a minute."

"_Thank _you," Eden replied earnestly.

The waitress gave her a kind smile and headed back to the kitchen. Eden took her satchel and opened it, frowning as she saw a wallet inside; a wallet she'd never seen before. She reached in with fateful trepidation; her fingers trembling as she opened the black leather; her heart skipping a beat as she looked at the drivers licence sitting behind the blood spattered plastic.

Her heart was now racing as she read the vital statistics; 5'7'', green eyes, red hair. But she didn't need to read that to see the resemblance between her and the woman…Ella Hudson. She closed the wallet, glancing warily towards the kitchen as she tipped the contents of the satchel onto the table in front of her. She shook her head in denial at her missing pistol. She spread the contents over the table, her phone was gone too.

She tried to still her trembling fingers as she pulled a five dollar note from the mess before sweeping her possessions…and the wallet, into her satchel. _Coffee and go, coffee and go; _she thought over and over as she kept her eyes glued to the table in front of her. She tried to think back; how had she got here? Not that she knew where _here _was. She frowned; and why didn't she know? She picked up a menu;…Winchester, Virginia. Her heart began to race as she saw a flash of terrified green eyes looking up at her; eyes that pleaded with her. She closed her own eyes to stop the vision but all that did was intensify it.

She opened hers again, dropping her gaze to the table and pulling her hands quickly from the white laminate table-top….and away from the shadow that crept along it; its five almost skeletal wisps snaking towards her. She shook her head in denial; there couldn't _be _a shadow here; not here in the light. She saw a flash of those terrified eyes again and her mind began fracture as malignant images splintered into a slowly eroding mind…

_It's coming round again;  
The slowly creeping hand,  
Of time and its command.  
Soon enough it comes;  
And settles in its place,  
Its shadow in my face;  
Puts pressure in my day…_

Her heart pounded in her chest, her breath like a steam-train in her ears as the shadowy fingers dragged themselves towards her; an image of horror-filled eyes jumped out at her… and an all too familiar hand around an all too familiar gun…

__

This life well it's slipping right through my hands  
These days turned out nothing like I had planned

She stood quickly, flinging her satchel over her shoulder as she made her way towards the front door of the diner. She glanced over her shoulder, her heart beating furiously as she saw the shadowy hand slithering towards her…the slowly creeping hand…

_It's coming round again;  
The slowly creeping hand,  
Of time and its demands...  
It settles in its place  
Its shadow in my face  
Puts pressure in my day  
Soon enough it comes  
_

She pushed through the glass door, leaving the light behind her; her shoulders slumping, her head hung as she walked towards the highway. She glanced back once, the 'hand' now scuttling like a disjointed spider through the pale glow of the streetlight as it followed her.

She didn't bother keeping to the lighted parts of the highway, she understood now. Understood the shadows would always be at her back, at her sides…in front of her...eating away at her. There was no escaping them…

_Here it is again  
The slowly creeping hand  
Of time and its command  
Soon enough it comes  
It settles in its place  
Puts pressure in my day  
Undignified and lame  
_

She watched her feet…left, right, left, right…; a dusty cadence that kicked through the shadows that slithered over her feet, swirling malignantly around her ankles as her mind was assaulted with gruesomely malevolent images. She was sinking…slowly sinking into the darkness…

_This life well it's slipping right through my hands  
These days turned out nothing like I had planned  
Control well it's slipping right through my hands  
These days turned out nothing like I had planned  
_

The shadows seeped sickeningly through her psyche; a gun forced between begging lips; the awareness of a pointless struggle underneath her; eyes blown wide with fear…

_Soon enough it comes,  
Soon enough it comes,  
To tie us down  
It's coming round again; the slow slowly creeping hand.  
_

She saw the barely illuminated telephone booth in the distance; a shimmering mirage in a blackened desert. She focussed on the unlikely beacon, pushing herself towards her lifeboat in this raging sea of darkened despair.

_This life well it's slipping right through my hands,  
These days turned out nothing like I had planned.  
_

She lifted the phone; the coins dropping into the box like an ominously tolling bell. She punched in the number she needed as she rested her forehead against the glass, waiting for the connection as she watched her finger tighten on the trigger.

_Control, well it's slipping right through my hands,  
These days turned out nothing like I had planned.  
_

She flinched as the shot rang out; a desperate sob escaping her as her vision was splattered with the memory of blood and flesh…

* * *

Dean and Sam double-backed; now heading towards the back of _their _motel. The cops weren't there to extend their sympathies; not at two in the morning. And they couldn't risk ringing Bobby either. Their best bet was to find out _exactly _what was going on, and they knew Bobby would make sure they could hear what was happening inside.

They moved silently down the embankment at the rear of the motel, noiselessly vaulting the small fence as they dashed to the motel wall. They inched carefully along the brickwork, heading towards the sound of muffled voices filtering through a partially opened window; their stomachs tightening as they heard the exasperation in Bobby's voice.

"Listen, I don't know what to tell you. The boys were mighty upset by this; my best guess is, they're sitting quietly somewhere, drowning the last couple of hours in a shitload of alcohol. Not really surprising though, detective."

"And you weren't invited, Mr Townshend?"

"I grieve alone," stated Bobby as Dean and Sam heard the sound of a bottle clinking against glass; "_Alone, _detective."

"We could just as easily do this down at the station, sir."

"Yep, we could. But dragging an old man out in the middle of the night, a _grieving _old man, isn't very hospitable now is it?"

"Mr Townshend…"

"I'm _drunk, _boy," Bobby said with exasperation; "I plan to be passed out in blissful intoxication in about five minutes so I can try and forget this whole sorry mess. So if you'll excuse me, there's a piece of floor with my name on it."

Dean and Sam crouched, stilling their breathing as they heard the door to the motel room open; the voices now hushed.

"I'll send a car for you and the Hetfield's in the morning," the detective instructed. "And just on Virginian hospitality, Mr Townshend," Dean and Sam glanced at each other as they heard the grin in the man's voice; "Don't try leaving town. Night now."

They waited til they heard Bobby close and lock the door and the sound of a car starting up in the lot before sliding the window all the way open and slipping through…and into the glaring eyes of Bobby.

"I am _kicking _your asses!"

"EMF went crazy," started Sam, "Show him the photo, Dean."

"How crazy?" asked Bobby, his interest now piqued.

"Off the scale. And there's some weird shit on the walls too. _Show _him, dude."

Dean pulled his phone from his jacket; he was about to flick it open when it rang, He frowned as he looked at the caller I.D.; not listed. He was about to ignore it, thinking it had to be the detective trying to figure out where they were; when he heard the echo of Eden's scream again. He flicked it open; "Eden?"

"_Not free…Dean…not free..."_

_**To be continued…**_


	4. Without a Trace

**_A/N: Bet you didn't think this chapter was ever coming! Sorry for the huge delay, am hoping to get chapters up a little more regularly. Thanks for sticking with it._**

**_Disclaimer: Don't own anything remotely associated to Supernatural (no matter how much I'd like). This story, and the character of Eden, however, belong to me. Anyone says different, they'll get a hurting they'll NEVER forget... Oh, usual gore and language warning applies. _**

**

* * *

**

**Shadows.**

**Chapter Four.**

Dean pulled his phone from his jacket and was about to flick it open when it rang. Frowning, he looked at the caller ID – not listed. He was about to ignore it, thinking it had to be the detective trying to figure out where he and Sam were when he heard the echo of Eden's scream again.

He flicked it open, "Eden?"

"_Not free, Dean… not free…"_

"Eden, listen to me," Dean said quietly, turning away from the surprised looks of Sam and Bobby and going to the far side of the room.

"I did something terrible, Dean…I think I did… I don't know, I don't know, I don't know…"

"Calm down Eden. Me and Sammy are here. You need to tell me where you are."

"_I don't know… I… it's dark…"_

"Look around you. What can you see?" Dean asked softly.

"_Shadows… everywhere shadows…"_

Dean's stomach dropped. Shadows. That's what Selah had said. The 'shadows' were after Eden. "Look past the shadows, Eden," he whispered.

"_I __**can't**__…"_

Dean closed his eyes as her sob came over the phone. He'd never heard such a desperate sound. "You _can. _I know you can."

"I can't…they're everywhere…"

He could hear the helplessness in her voice, and it was something he never expected to hear from her. Not from his Watcher. "Eden," he paused. "_Watcher, _are you near a road?" He allowed himself a small smile when he heard her take a shaky breath.

"A … highway, I think…"

"Good girl. What else? Look down the highway and tell me what you see." He lowered his voice. "Ignore the shadows, Eden, they can't hurt you."

"_They __**can, **__Dean…they make me do __**terrible **__things… terrible things…"_

"That's not you, Eden. I promise. You know I don't lie… well not to you." Her laugh turned into a sob. "_Eden…"_

"_I can't do this anymore…"_

"Eden, you _listen _to me. You _look _down that highway and you _tell _me what you see. _Do _it."

"_L-lights…"_

"Car lights?"

"_No…a…a… diner? Oh God…the hand…nooo…"_

"Eden! Eden! _Eden! _Goddammit!" He punched the wall again and again, turning quickly when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Easy, Dean." Sam raised his hands. "Where is she?"

"I don't fucking know, Sam!"

"A highway, you said," Bobby distracted, going to the table and sorting through the brochures before finding one with a map. "What else did she say? Think, boy."

"A diner, she thinks there was a diner."

"Okay, a highway, a diner and a public phone," Bobby said more to himself than to Dean and Sam as he went over the map. "I'm guessing she wasn't somewhere too close to people…"

"She sound all right?" Sam asked, watching his brother closely.

"Yeah, she sounded just peachy, Sam."

"Dean, I just…" he sighed. "Forget it."

"Here. Two possibilities." Bobby turned the map towards them. "Either end of town, of course."

"I'll take this one," Dean pointed, "Sammy, take that one."

"Hold up there, boys…"

"No." Dean turned to Sam, "if you find her, just… she's scared, Sammy, I mean _real _scared."

Sam nodded. "Ring me if you find her."

"And just how do you plan on getting there?" Bobby asked. "You can't take the cars, the cops are _on _this place."

"We'll be fine. Move it, Sammy," Dean ordered, heading towards the window.

"Here, you idjits," Bobby sighed, handing them extra weapons. "You _find _her, and you _hide _her. Ring me, and we'll get the hell out of here."

Nodding they slipped out the window and headed into the shadows.

* * *

As much as Dean hated to, he kept to the speed limit as he made his way to the diner at the east end of the town. The last thing he needed was to be pulled over by the cops. He kept replaying his conversation with Eden over in his head. The shadows were everywhere, she said, and she was _terrified _of them. He couldn't get his head around that. The Eden he knew was scared of only one thing – failing her charges, failing him and Sam. She had taken on rogue Furies, defied the Laws of the Watchers knowing it was a death-sentence, and taken on _the _most powerful Watcher of all to save him and Sammy. He frowned, where the hell _was _Jediah? It was Selah who had come to him last night, not her father. Jediah had told Eden he would watch over her, so where the hell was he? If what Selah had said was true, and he was pretty sure she wouldn't lie to him, they couldn't find Eden. How could they not find one of their own?

More fucking questions and no goddamn answers. He slammed his palm against the steering wheel of the shitty sedan he was driving. Always the same with Watchers, half-information wrapped up in riddles and then left with them to figure out.

"My _ass_ you're changing the rules, Jed."

He sighed. So the Watchers couldn't find Eden, but Eden had found him and Sammy. She'd chosen Winchester, Virginia for a reason, same with the Paradise Motel. Had she done that consciously or sub-consciously? Sub-consciously if her demeanour on the phone was anything to go by. This was giving him a headache.

"Okay, so back to basics," he muttered.

After kicking the Watchers up the ass two years ago, Eden had gone in search of her mother. She hadn't told them where, only that she was 'just going'. Sammy had been ringing her every week since, but she'd never answered. Two years she had been incommunicado, and now that she'd come back into their lives, they were up to their necks in shit again.

"Fuck this." He pushed his foot to the floor, cursing as the sedan protested at having to go over 50mph. None of that shit mattered. Eden was in trouble, and he'd never forgotten her scream that had echoed through his mind the last time he'd seen her. He'd known the day would come when he'd be able to repay his debt.

Eden had brought Sam back from the dead. She'd saved him, and now it was his turn to save her.

Dumping the stolen car a half-mile shy of the diner, he jogged quickly towards its bright lights. Pushing through the glass door, he smiled at the large woman behind the counter as she put down her book.

"Morning, honey. What can I get ya?"

"Coffee. Black thanks," Dean smiled, "to go." He looked around the empty diner, resting his arms on the counter. "Quiet. You get much passing traffic this time of the morning?"

"Not much, but I like the silence."

"So I'm your first customer then?" he smiled.

"Second." She smiled, "you're not going to do a runner on me though are ya?"

Dean's heart skipped a beat as he took out his wallet. "Nope. Someone ate and ran?"

She shook her head, bringing his coffee over. "Paid for coffee she didn't drink."

Dean frowned, "Paid?"

The woman nodded, putting the cup in front of him. "Went to get her coffee, when I came back she was gone. Nothing but a five dollar note on the table."

"Just can't tell with some people."

"Ain't that the truth, honey. Here you go."

Dean smiled his thanks and left a big tip as he took his coffee and tried not to run from the diner. It had to have been Eden. He got to the road, saw the phone box and headed over quickly. The phone was still dangling and he put it back in its rest and looked around.

"Eden!" He turned in circles, "Eden! It's Dean!" He turned to a muffled sound behind him, "Eden?" Pulling his pistol from the small of his back, he took a step towards the thick woodland surrounding the highway. "Eden?"

* * *

"Answer your goddamn _phone, _Dean," Sam cursed, snapping his phone shut on Dean's voice message.

Great. Not only was Eden missing but Dean had gone AWOL. The diner he'd gone to had been a bust. He'd rung Dean immediately and it had gone straight to voice mail, as had all Sam's other calls.

"_Shit!" _He slammed his hand against the steering wheel of the old truck he was driving, urging the needle to push over 40mph. He was getting that sick feeling in the pit of his stomach again. Never a good thing. Dean had been the one _ordering _him to remain in contact, and now he was the one… he didn't want to say 'missing', he didn't like that word associated with is brother.

He took a calming breath. "Okay, so Eden said the 'armour had cracked'." Sam thought out loud when he was alone. He didn't know why, but it seemed to make things clearer in head when he did. "But she was talking about Dean when she said that… but knew I'd understand what she meant. Soooo… she's cracked and killing people that look like her? Yeah, Sam, _that _makes total sense." He paused, "great, now I'm answering myself too. Next thing you know I'll be seeing dead people. Shit, I _do _see dead people," he laughed. He didn't like the sound of it. "Just drive, Sammy," he muttered, imitating his brother as he rang him again.

He cursed when it straight to voice mail again, shoving the phone into his jacket when he spotted the car Dean had stolen parked off the highway. He steered the truck behind the car, wiping his prints from it before jogging quickly to the diner.

He tried not to flinch as the bell above the door jangled loudly, smiling at the woman behind the counter as he took a seat.

"Well the gods have blessed me tonight," she laughed. "What can I get ya, handsome?"

Sam frowned, confused. "Aaah, coffee…."

"Black?"

"Aaah, yeah, thanks."

"To go, right?" she asked, pouring from the steaming pot.

"Yeah…"

Her laugh was deep and Sam couldn't help but smile. "Don't worry, honey, I'm not psychic. You're just the second good lookin' fella I've had in here tonight. I'm a happy woman."

Sam motioned with his hand, "about yay high, green eyes…"

"And a grin that could that melt hearts. Friend of yours?"

Sam nodded, "I was supposed to meet him here."

"Well you missed him by about an hour. Went that way," she pointed, placing the coffee in front of Sam.

"And you tip like he did," she smiled. "Come back soon, honey."

"Thanks." He stopped midway to the door, turning back. "You didn't happen to see a woman earlier? Dark red hair…"

"Sure did, honey. Disappeared on me…" she paused.

"What?"

"Nothin'," she shook her head. "It's nothin'."

Sam walked back to the counter. "It was something…" he looked at the nametag, "Jonie, look…" he knew he shouldn't let on too much, but Dean wasn't answering his phone and Bobby hadn't heard from him either. "I'm looking for my sister," he lied, "I think she's in trouble and…please."

Jonie sighed. "Honey, I have never seen such a lost soul. I don't know which way she went, like I said, she was here one minute, gone the next. But…"

"Please…"

"You'll think I'm crazy, but after she left…everything seemed…brighter. Like she took a little bit of the darkness with her." She laughed nervously. "Don't listen to an old woman," she smiled, "too many midnight shifts and too many horror novels."

"She say anything to you? Anything at all?"

"Just that she wanted to sit in the light, that was all."

Sam nodded. "Thank you." He turned back from the door when he heard Jonie call to him.

"I hope you find your sister." She paused. "Soon, honey. Real soon."

"Me too," Sam gave a small wave as he left. "Me too," he whispered as he made his way towards the part of the highway Jonie had last seen Dean.

Stopping at the phone booth, he crouched, inspecting the dirt around it. Dean's boot prints. He'd know them anywhere. Rising slowly, he scanned the area around him. "Dean! Dean!" Frowning, he walked a little ways off the highway, crouching at a discarded styrofoam cup – it was from the diner. "Dean!" He rose, trepidation rising with him. "DEAN!"

Grabbing his phone, he swore when his brother's phone went straight to voice mail. "Dean. It's me. Where the _fuck _are you? Ring me back! Now!"

Dialling another number, he was relieved when it was answered immediately. "Bobby, Eden was at the diner Dean went to. I can't find either of them."

"_You sure, boy?"_

"Positive. I got a _bad _feeling, Bobby. His car's here but no sign of him or Eden. His phone goes straight to voice mail."

"_I know, tried it half a dozen times. You find anything else?"_

"Just his boot prints around the phone booth. Hang on." Taking the EMF from his pocket, he switched it on, wincing as it screamed. "Bobby…"

"_I heard. Call you back in five."_

* * *

Bobby's eyes flicked to the headlights that had been following him since he'd left the motel. He took a turn off the highway, heading slowly towards the park he'd directed Sam to. _Idjits. _He didn't know whether he was referring to the boys or the cops who were following him. Both he guessed. "God_damn_ you, Dean," he muttered. "Always doing things the hard way, never listening…" he continued to grumble until he pulled up in front of the park.

Walking carefully towards Sam, he sat beside him. "Cops are across the street. You ready?"

Sam gave an over-exaggerated nod. "I couldn't find anything, Bobby. Checked everywhere. Dean's vanished."

"And Eden's nowhere to be found, either."

"She was at the diner. The woman working described her."

"Alright, up we go," Bobby muttered, slipping an arm under Sam's shoulder. "You fall, I'll kick your ass."

Bobby helped a staggering Sam to the truck, slamming the door and turning to footsteps at his back. "Helpya officer?"

"Going somewhere, Mr Townshend?"

"An escort back to the motel would be good, boy," Bobby said, walking to the driver's side of the truck.

"Where's the other one?"

"The other one what?"

"The other man."

"Don't know. Just want to get this one back before he pukes in my truck." Nodding to the officer, Bobby slammed the door and gunned the engine, cursing both Sam and Dean under his breath. They were more than screwed.

Bobby half carried Sam into the room, slamming the door on the lights of the undercover police car. Sam turned to Bobby and raised his hands, "I don't know Bobby, okay? And yeah, I'm just as pissed as you."

"I don't think so, boy," Bobby angered. "What the hell are we gonna tell that _detective _when he comes to pick all _three _of us up tomorrow morning? Your brother think of that when he pulled his disappearing act?"

"Bobby, just…" He sighed, "Shit. I don't know. Maybe Dean'll be home by morning… but…"

"You doubt it."

Sam sighed, slumping into a chair and running his hands down his face. Like Eden, his brother had vanished without a trace. "I don't know whether he disappeared or was taken."

"By Eden?"

"Eden wouldn't hurt Dean," Sam's jaw set. "You should know that better than anyone, Bobby."

Bobby went to the kitchenette and started the kettle. "I know the Eden of a couple of years ago wouldn't. The Eden now? Son… I'm not so sure."

* * *

Bobby opened the door, squinting into the early morning sunshine that streaked over the large policeman's shoulder. "Helpya?"

"Detective Whittingham has…"

"We'll be ready when _we _are, boy. Not when you _or _your Detective are. Got it?" Bobby slammed the door on the man's face, locking it loudly behind him and ignoring the pounding from the other side. "You been sitting out there all night," Bobby yelled. "Wait a little longer!"

Grabbing his coffee, he swore under his breath. Still no sign of Dean, and he wasn't answering his phone either. He'd maintained a façade of calm in front of Sam, but he knew the boy wasn't buying it. Sam was just as worried as he was. It wasn't unusual for Dean to go incommunicado for a few hours, but that usually involved Dean getting his rocks off.

There was no way that was happening now. He'd noticed the change in Dean the minute the boys had pulled into the parking lot of the motel last night. Before Dean had stepped from the Impala, he'd seen something in the set of Dean's jaw that had him worried. Dean was hiding something, and it was something _big._ He wasn't thinking clearly, and he was making decisions that put them in more danger not less.

Tossing the dregs of coffee into the sink, he stopped himself from throwing the cup against the far wall. He knew how protective Dean and Sam were of Eden. Hell, he was too. The only difference was that he could see past the blind loyalty where Dean and Sam couldn't. Yes, Eden had sacrificed everything to ensure both boys were kept alive and kept together, but whatever had happened in the two years since they'd seen her, had turned her from the Watcher she was born to be, into… shit, he didn't want to think about that.

"Sam! Move your ass! That's the thin blue line pounding the crap outta my door!"

* * *

Sam followed Bobby through the police station, keeping his eyes focussed on the man's back and ignoring the stares of those sitting at their desks pretending to do work. They were intrigued where the huge cop in front of Bobby was _pissed. _Fifteen minutes Bobby had argued with the man, refusing to get into the back of the squad car. _"Not riding in the back like some criminal, Smokey" _Sam had tried not to laugh as the cop had towered over Bobby trying to intimidate him. Bobby had grinned up at the man when he'd said he could always 'drag' him in. _"Ya think it'd be worth having your lips glued to my ass after doing that, sonny? I ain't washed in a while."_

So it had been a police escort all the way in. He and Bobby had decided to play most of the interview by ear. They couldn't do anything much until they knew what the hell the detective knew. But he knew Bobby was as nervous as he was. Police stations were the last place either of them wanted to be. There was just no way out of it his time.

"There's a good boy," Bobby said to the large cop as he walked past him, taking a seat in one of the chairs opposite Detective Whittingham. "I take my coffee black. So does Sam."

"I'm good," Sam said to the fuming cop, shaking the detective's hand as he sat.

"Where's Mr Hetfield?"

"No idea," Bobby answered, making himself comfortable.

"Really," Joel Whittingham leaned back in his seat, studying the two men. Again, they were giving nothing away.

"Really," Bobby replied. "Seems this one lost the other one when they went on a bender. Haven't seen or heard from the boy since." Bobby shrugged. "He'll turn up when he's ready."

"I explained that…"

"Listen," Sam interrupted. "You… he and Eden, they were real close. It's hit him hard. He just needs to sort this out on his own. Me and Bobby'll answer whatever questions you have, Detective."

Joel nodded slowly. "Good. Seems we have a bit of a problem, Mr Hetfield."

"That right?" Bobby asked. "And what problem do you have, Detective?"

"Not me, Mr Townshend. You."

"That so?"

"Can you explain to me why you and the Hetfield's identified the body as that of Eden Young when it's Ella Hudson?"

"That was…." Bobby sat forward, a frown creasing his brow. "That's not Eden?" He shook his head. "No…that…." He looked to Sam then back to the detective. "You're sure?"

"Fingerprints don't lie, Mr Townshend."

Bobby grinned. "Well… " he laughed, clapping Sam on the back. "She's alive, boy!"

"You're sure?" Sam asked, a tentative smile on his face. "I mean _really _sure it's not Eden? You're not … fucking with us? Really?"

"It's Ella Hudson," he said slowly, watching them carefully.

Sam turned to Bobby, grinning widely. "Eden's alive." He laughed. "Eden's alive!" He hugged Bobby. "Oh shit," he turned to the detective. "Sorry, no… we're not… we're sorry about the other woman, we really are… but… we thought we'd lost Eden, you know?"

Joel nodded slowly again. "Care to explain the suicide note? The phone? The gun?"

"Jesus, boy. How the hell should we know?" Bobby tried to stop his grin. "You just gave us the best news we've had in… shit, well a long time."

"Where is she?"

"Eden?" Sam asked. "Up until a few minutes ago we thought she was dead."

"5ft 8, auburn hair, green eyes, no distinguishing marks. That's what you said." Both Sam and Bobby nodded. "Good. That's what's going out on the wire." He sat back in his chair, smiling at the two men. "Your friend just went from dead to wanted for murder." He pointed behind them, Sam and Bobby turning to see a man comforting a sobbing woman. "I need to give Ella's parents some answers, and you two ain't leaving 'til I get them."

Joel's smile rose as Sam's and Bobby's disappeared.

* * *

Blood. There was so much blood. It was splashed up the walls, it dripped from the ceiling, and it squelched underfoot. The carpet couldn't soak up any more of it. It was wet and sticky, sometimes warm, sometimes cold. The smell… oh god the smell. Blood, sweat, shit, and fear fought for control of the air. It stung the eyes, closed the throat, and there was nothing else to breathe but death in all its stinking glory.

Eden fell to her knees. She didn't hear the dull splash of blood, nor did she feel it soak into her pores, staining more than her skin as she buried her face in his bloodied shoulder, the flesh of his torn throat seeming to caress her cheek. She put a hand to his destroyed face, closing her eyes against the shadows that slithered down the wall, slinking over the bed towards her. She sobbed loudly, grief wracking her body as she realised what she'd done.

She'd killed Dean.

_**To be continued…**_


	5. Body Count

_A/N: Well it seems another apology is in order for the delay with this chapter. Apologies. :) Here's hoping the wait for this chapter was worth it. _

_Disclaimer: Not matter how much I wish for it, I don't own any part of the Supernatural universe; but this story, its plot and the characters of Eden, Jediah and the Watchers are all mine. Really, I carved my names into their arses and everything..._

* * *

**SHADOWS.**

**Chapter Five.**_  
_

_Levi bowed his head and waited for permission to enter. He could feel the tension straining against the darkened binds of solitude surrounding Jediah; it was mirrored in all the Watchers. Levi wasn't sure what this information would do to their leader, but simmering just below the tension of their home were the beginnings of whispers, rumours... a disquiet that was slowly descending on all of them. _

"_Enter."_

_Levi kept his head lowered as he stepped through the churning mist. "Jediah."_

"_What news?"_

_Levi raised his head and tried to keep his surprise hidden; Jediah had discarded his robes and was now dressed in the clothes of the mortal realm. _

_Jediah clenched his hands."What news, Levi?"_

"_There has been another death," Levi said sadly. "A young woman matching Eden's description."_

_Jediah nodded slowly. "Where?"_

"_Winchester, Virginia."_

"_Winchester?"_

_Levi nodded. "Samuel and Robert are there. They are being held at a police station. I felt much tension and worry surrounding them. Suspicion runs rampant in this town. There is something bubbling just beneath the surface. I did not like it."_

_Jediah frowned. "Where is Dean?"_

"_I do not know, Jediah. I felt only an echo of him, but I felt Samuel and Robert's fear for him. I do not think they expected his disapp–"_

"_Enter, Rayel," Jediah interrupted._

_Rayel bowed then raised his head. "My apologies Jediah, Levi." He cleared his throat and looked at Jediah. "We have felt the ripples of another death surrounding Eden."_

"_Send Hannah to the woman's family," Jediah said. "Have her bring them what comfort she can."_

"_It was not a woman this time," Rayel said quietly. Levi's frown matched that of Jediah's. "The body has yet to be discovered. It is on the outskirts of the town."_

"_A man?" Levi queried. _

"_Yes," Rayel nodded. "A soul very much in torment."_

"_Leave us," Jediah said, waiting until Rayel disappeared then turned to Levi. "Assemble the Firsts, I will be with them shortly."_

_Levi dipped his head and vanished into the mist. _

_Jediah closed his eyes. When he opened them moments later he was a garden overflowing with flowers – Eden's garden. Levi had told him that what little free time she'd had growing up here, Eden had spent planting and tending the garden. Phineas had destroyed it often, but Eden had persevered. Amidst the ugliness of her childhood, his daughter had fought for something beautiful. _

"_Eden..." _

_He didn't understand why he couldn't connect with her, why he couldn't find her, why none of them could. When he'd felt her disappear a year ago, he'd sent his most trusted Watchers to find her, but she'd vanished, only echoes of her soul appearing around an ever-increasing body count. _

_Jediah heard the whispers of some who believed the blood from the rogue fury had finally taken control of Eden; that her survival at the death of the Original had been an omen from the start. But those who had been in the field that day, who had witnessed the changing of the guard, knew the truth and still searched, with honest hearts, for Eden._

_He turned and stepped from the garden and into the smoky void where the Firsts were assembled. "Thank you for coming," he said, taking in the surprised looks on their faces when they saw the way he was dressed. "I made a promise to my father," he told them._

"_Jediah," Miriam stepped forward. "It is... ill-advised for you to leave. The last time the Original ventured from the safety of home..."_

"_Yes, Miriam," Jediah said as calmly as he could, "I was there."_

_Ashalem stepped beside Miriam and dipped his head. "We cannot risk any harm coming to you, Jediah. There isn't a whisper in the wind of the … the... "_

"_My replacement?" Jediah asked. "No, there isn't. I am not leaving on a sabbatical," he said, trying to keep the anger from his voice. "I am finding my daughter. You remember her? The one you would not lift a hand to help as a child?" All but Levi and Zachariah hung their heads in shame. "A child." He shook his head. "Levi, you will come with me. Zachariah, you will stay with the body of the man, find out what you can. I will be in touch."_

_Zachariah nodded and disappeared._

_Jediah scanned the remaining Firsts. "Surely there are many who require our help," he said. "Back to work." He waited until he and Levi were alone. "I have heard the rumours."_

_Levi nodded. "They are worried. It has only been a short time since we lost the last Original and Selah and it was centred around Eden. I know she was an innocent, I have always believed this, but it will take a long time for the lies and beliefs Phineas instilled in them to be broken down. Their hearts are in the right place, Jediah; they do not fear for themselves but their charges."_

"_Change," Jediah ordered. "We have much to do."_

* * *

Bobby drummed his fingers against the desk as he waited for Detective Whittingham to return. He knew he was being watched, all interrogation rooms were set up with cameras and microphones, but it was Dean who occupied his thoughts. As much as he tried to focus on the immediate threat – Whittingham may look like a small-town hick, but Bobby had noted the man's intelligence the moment he'd met him – it was Dean's demeanour that required Bobby's attention.

Sam had told him about the ghost's words to Dean on their last hunt and how it had unnerved the boy. They'd meant nothing to Sam, nor to Bobby, but you'd have to be an idjit not to realise that it was tied up with something private between Dean and Eden. Bobby sighed; when it came to the Watcher, Dean was tight-lipped but stoically loyal. Though Dean refused to speak of Eden, every time either Bobby or Sam had brought her up, Dean had been unable to hide the worry in his eyes.

For two years Bobby had tried on and off to get Dean to let him in on what was going on, but Dean had always waved him off and said Eden could look after herself. If she needed them, she'd get in touch – "besides", the boy had said, "I'd know if she was in trouble."

But he hadn't.

Dean had been as surprised as Bobby had when the call about Eden's apparent suicide had come through, and he'd seen how hard it had hit Dean. Bobby had only asked Dean once if there'd been something more between him and his Watcher – Bobby hadn't seen the punch coming.

Bobby looked up as the door opened; Whittingham was unreadable.

"Mr Townshend," the detective said, closing the door behind him and taking a seat opposite Bobby. He placed a folder on the table between them and leaned back in his chair. "May I call you Bobby?"

"You're the boss here, Detective," Bobby said, leaning back in his chair as well. "You can call me what you want."

The detective smiled, short and sharp. "How about 'liar'?"

Bobby returned the smile. "Like I said, you're the boss."

Detective Whittingham raised an eyebrow. "It doesn't bother you at all that you lied about the body in the motel?"

"Misidentified, you mean," Bobby countered. "Do I need to remind you, _Detective, _that that poor girl's face was a mess. From what little we had to go on, we thought it was Eden. Same height, weight and hair colour. The phone was hers as was the gun. Like you, we thought it was Eden too. I'm just as surprised as you. Although I'm guessing we're a lot more happy about that than you are." He raised his hand. "I feel for the girl's family, I do, but until someone tells me otherwise, our Eden is alive. You can't fault an old man for being happy about that."

"No, Bobby, I surely can't." Detective Whittingham drummed his fingers on the table just as Bobby had done. "What I'm wondering is why you thought it necessary to turn Ms Hudson's body to make the identification? What were you looking for?"

"Levidity."

Whittingham barked a laugh. "Taking me for a fool is a big mistake, Bobby."

Bobby leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Let me explain something to you, _Joel._ I'm guessing you done run checks on me and my boys, so you know I worked with the Sheriff's Department. It's second-nature for me to check. So yeah, when one of my own dies, I want to make sure the locals aren't fucking things up."

"But she's not dead, is she, _Bobby?__" _Whittingham leaned forward, matching Bobby's glare. "But she was in that room, and she's the only one who walked out alive. So tell me, why would _one __of __yours _kill Ella?"

"What makes you so sure _one __of __mine,_ wasn't set up? 'Cause, _Joel, _I'm surely feeling that way right about now."

"Where's Dean?"

Bobby shrugged. "Wish I could tell ya. But haven't seen the boy since last night."

The detective stood and pushed the folder towards Bobby. "Take a look at what she did, Bobby. Then tell me if you think protecting her's a good thing."

Bobby turned as the detective opened the door. "You find Dean, kick him up the ass for me." He smiled at the slammed door then returned his attention to the folder, sighed and pulled it towards him.

* * *

Sam shifted uncomfortably in the chair, trying to fit his legs under the table, but it was impossible, so he stretched them out as he waited. _Where __the __hell __are __you, __Dean? _He tried to keep the tension from him, it was the last thing he needed here; he was sure the detective would mistake it for something else, and it wasn't like he could explain it to the man.

He crossed his ankles and tried to appear relaxed; he hadn't wanted to be separated from Bobby, but protesting would only arouse greater suspicion and that was the last thing either of them needed … they were screwed enough as it was.

The one positive thing, and Sam _had _to think positive, was that Dean wasn't in here with them; they had someone on the outside, which meant they had a chance of getting out of here. Dean had to know where they were. Maybe he was figuring out–

Sam turned as the door opened behind him and he groaned inwardly. Sitting straighter in his chair, his knees banged against the underside of the table. He pushed his chair back and stood as Detective Whittingham escorted Mrs Hudson into the room. _Asshole._

The detective pulled the chair out and helped the woman sit. "Would you like some water, Mrs Hudson?"

"Please," she said softly, her hands shaking as she put them in her lap.

"I won't be long," Whittingham said gently, putting a hand to her shoulder before leaving the room. He didn't once look at Sam.

Mrs Hudson pulled a tissue from her purse and blew her nose. Dressed in jeans, her blue shirt was dotted with tear-stains and her dark-red curls, hung in knots to her shoulders. She took a breath. "Would you please sit, Mr Hetfield?" she asked, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

Sam slowly took his seat, squeezing his legs beneath the table. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mrs Hudson," he said softly.

When she raised her head, Sam tried not to flinch. Her resemblance to Eden was remarkable, only this woman had blue eyes, not the bright green of Eden's. "Who killed my baby?"

"I don't know, Mrs Hudson, I really don't know," Sam said, silently cursing the detective for this.

"You said my Ella was your... the body was that of your friend. Why would you do that? What would you have done with her? What would you have done with my baby?"

Sam sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Mrs Hudson... your daughter.. _you_ look so much like Eden, we really did think it was her. We never would have said it was Eden if we didn't believe it was." He paused. "We'd have buried her with her family," he said softly. "Under a large oak tree that looks out over the mountains." He looked into her eyes. "We're not monsters."

"Detective Whittingham says she ... your … friend killed my Ella."

Sam held the woman's gaze, he needed her to believe him. "Eden doesn't kill people," Sam said. "It's not in her nature. She's … she's ... " He sighed. "She's Eden."

Sam flinched when Mrs Hudson exploded from the chair and slammed her fists down on the table. "Tell me! You tell me where that monster is!"

"I don't know where she is," Sam said as calmly as he could. "Until this morning, I thought she was dead."

"_She _isn't! My Ella is!" She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket unfolded it and slammed it down on the table in front of Sam. It was a copy of the 'suicide' note Eden had left. "Signed _Eden,__" _the woman yelled. "_Not_ Ella! But it's my daughter who's dead!_ My __daughter!_ Tell me why?"

Sam shook his head as he read. "I honestly don't know," he whispered.

"_That, _is my Ella," Mrs Hudson angered, putting a photo atop the note – Eden and Ella could have been sisters. "She was studying to be a nurse! She was going to _help_ people!"

Sam looked up at her. "I'm so sorr–"

She slapped him.

"I'm very sorry for your loss," Sam said.

She slapped him again. Again and again. She raked her fingernails down his face.

The door burst open and Detective Whittingham raced in, grabbing Mrs Hudson as she went for Sam's eyes. "Grace! Grace!" She fell against the detective, her whole body shaking as she wailed. "Shhh, easy now," the detective said softly, leading her out.

Grace Hudson grabbed the door as the detective tried to carry her out. "May you burn in hell!"

* * *

"I feel uncomfortable here," Levi whispered. He adjusted his jeans again as walked down the main street of the town of Winchester. "And it is not just the clothes. Have you noticed–"

"I've noticed," Jediah said, ignoring the stares of the townspeople as they passed. He cared little about what they thought of him, but the overwhelming sense he got was 'unwanted'. This town had carved out a nice little niche for itself and he and Levi did not fit the mold in their worn jeans, boots and t-shirts. He scanned the brightly-lit shops that lined the streets – _window__ dressings. _It was what lay behind immaculate store-fronts that mattered; and what lay behind then, was hiding. He could feel it shying from him, hiding in those who smiled widely at him and those who crossed the street to get out of his way.

By the time he and Levi reached the part of town that wasn't pristine, where the shops were boarded up and the houses run-down, did he begin to see the real face of this town, feel its heart. He stopped at the hunched form of a woman huddling at the front gate of a dilapidated house and crouched before her.

She raised her head slowly, tilted it to look at him through bruised and swollen eyes. Her lip was split and finger-marks bruised her neck. Tears leaked from her eyes as a muffled scream filtered from the house. A child's scream.

Jediah helped the woman to her feet and passed her gently to Levi. "You're safe," he said and put a hand to her cheek. He looked at Levi. "Care for her until I return."

"It is done," Levi said and turned but the woman held her ground.

"No, my daughter–"

"I will return with her," Jediah said. "Go with him." She nodded slowly and allowed Levi to lead her away.

Jediah strode up the path, crossed the porch and kicked the door in. The man … _Albert..._spun, his hand still raised. He was a giant of a man, but it was muscle long turned to fat.

"Get the fuck out!" Albert roared, spittle flying from his lips, blood dripping from his knuckles. "I said–"

"I heard what you said." Jediah dropped his gaze to the little girl cowering in the corner then raised his eyes to Albert. "She is your _child,__" _Jediah seethed.

Albert grabbed a nearby beer bottle, smashed the end off it and charged. "You're dead!"

Jediah swatted him as you would a fly, sending Albert crashing into the wall, the broken bottle flying from his hand. The man slumped to the floor, his eyes wide as Jediah hauled him up and tossed him to the other side of the room as if he weighed nothing.

"No... no... " Albert begged, raising his hands.

Jediah pulled him up by the scruff of his shirt and slammed him against the wall, putting his face inches from the man's. "You beat your wife and your child?" He punched the man in the face, breaking his nose. "I should tear you apart," Jediah said, "but death is too easy for someone like you." He threw Albert into the corner, disgust bittering his tongue as the man whimpered. "You will not look for Karen, you will not look for your daughter, if you do... " he crouched near the man. "I will skin you alive. Do you understand!"

Albert nodded.

Jediah cocked his head. "No, Albert," he said, "you can't blow my fucking head off, but if I see you again," he smiled, "I will reap a judgement on you that not even God himself can save you from." He patted his cheek, hard. "Stay."

He stood and went to the little girl, crouching in front of her. "It is all right, Charlotte," he said gently. "He will never hurt you or your mother again. I promise you." He looked over his shoulder and raised his hand as Albert ran at him, flinging the man back into the corner, and smiling at the sound of his arm breaking. "I said _stay.__"_

He turned back to Charlotte. "Your mother is waiting." He held out his hand. "I will not hurt you," he said, smiling as she took his hand.

* * *

Detective Whittingham pushed the medi-kit across the table as he took the seat opposite Sam.

"Didn't quite work out the way you planned, Detective," Sam said, pushing the medi-kit back. "I can look after it myself when you release me and Mr Townshend."

Whittingham leaned back in his chair. "And what makes you think you're being released, Sam?"

"Coupl'a things," Sam said, crossing his arms over his chest. "You can't hold us for making a misidentification, especially as you believed it was Eden as we did. Hell, everything pointed to it being her, any judge will agree. It was an honest mistake. And you know we weren't here when Ella Hudson died, we had nothing to do with it." Sam pointed to the marks on his face. "And to top it all off, a complaint. Against you, not Mrs Hudson. Her anger I get."

"You will not be leaving until I have the answers–"

"Wrong," Sam said. "You will release both of us _now._ You called us here and told us our friend was _dead, _then changed your mind and are now blaming us for your mistake?" Sam shook his head. "Don't get me started on my constitutional rights." He stood, looking down on the detective. "I hope you figure out what happened to Ella Hudson, but don't make us into your scapegoats because you don't know your ass from breakfast. I'll let myself out."

Sam half-expected to be dragged back into the room, but he closed it behind him without incident then went to the next door down the hallway and opened it. "Let's go, Bobby," he said.

"What the hell happened to you?" Bobby asked as he pushed from his seat. He walked out the door and glared at Detective Whittingham who was leaning against the wall just down from them.

"Seems the good detective thought a visit from Mrs Hudson would make me magically have access to information on her daughter's death and Eden's whereabouts," Sam said, his eyes never leaving those of the detective's.

Bobby pulled up in front of Whittingham. "You come near me or my boys again, _Detective, _I'll have your badge."

Detective Whittingham smiled coldly. "You come to my town again, _Mr__ Townshend,_ I'll arrest you for fun."

"Yours or mine?"

"Let's go," Sam said, taking Bobby by the elbow. "I'm sure the detective has some detecting to do." Sam steered Bobby through the door and past the bull-pens, ignoring the watchful eyes of all those inside.

As he got to the front desk; the Sergeant glared at them as he spoke into the phone. "Sure, we'll have a uniform meet him at the hospital to take his statement... whenever one of us is available... yeah, take your time, Shirley, make the bastard sweat."

Sam pushed the front door open as the Sergeant called for two men to "check on the Sadler place"; seemed the town of Winchester had a homespun demon, one worth checking out.

* * *

Jediah and Levi walked purposefully towards the guarded motel door. The police officer, no older than a boy, looked nervously at them then squared his shoulders and tried to look imposing... regardless of the fact he stood six inches shorter than them both.

"Sirs, the check-in is over there," the cop pointed. "This is a secure crime-scene."

"We do not need to check-in," Jediah said. "We are here to see the room, Andrew."

The young policeman cocked his head. "Of course, of course," he said, turning and opening the door for them.

"Thank you. Close it behind us and let no one enter," Jediah told him.

"No one enters," Andrew repeated, closing the door behind Jediah and Levi.

Levi put his hand to his nose as he flicked on the light. Blood stained the wall above the bed and had soaked into the mattress, but it wasn't the remnants of death that chilled him, but the evil that seemed to pulse from the walls. He crouched near the bed and placed his hand in the middle of the mattress and closed his eyes...

_Eyes, green, wide with fear. "No, please no, pleasepleasepleaseplease–" A gun forced between split lips, breaking the front teeth... tears leaking from eyes that begged for help... _

"_No, no, no, no, no, no, no..." a different voice, filled with despair._

Levi flinched as the shot rang out then said a prayer before he rose. He could feel the fear of not only the two women, but that of Dean, Samuel and Robert... and the anger that Dean had left here was verging on the rage that had emanated from the man when he'd fought the Watchers two years ago... rage and fear.

"Jediah," he said softly. Jediah was standing in front of the far wall, staring up at a scorch-mark near the ceiling.

"They were not alone here," Jediah said, not looking at Levi.

"The woman died by another's hand," Levi said.

"Eden's hand, you mean."

"That is the way it appears," Levi finally said.

Jediah went to the bed and pulled it away from the wall, crouching and pointing to another black smudge. "Things are not always as they appear, Levi." He stood. "We must find her."

"We will, Jediah, but if she has taken the life of another–"

"Watchers take the lives of others all the time, Levi," Jediah said angrily as he strode to the door.

* * *

Sam ran a hand through his hair as he re-read Albert Sadler's arrest reports while waiting for Bobby to finish his phonecall.

"Yes, Ma'am, he's wanted on an outstanding assault charge in North Carolina. We're forwarding our records to your police department, they'll be in touch." Bobby laughed softly. "It will be our pleasure, Ma'am. You have a nice day now." Bobby flicked his phone shut. "Seems someone did a number on Albert Sadler, broke his nose and right arm and swore they'd come back and skin him alive."

"Guys an asshole," Sam said. "Domestic violence and assault are his main ones, all reported by an anonymous source – wife never presses charges. He say who did it?"

"Said he never saw the man before, just charged in, beat him up for no reason, won't say anything else."

"You think it was Dean?"

Bobby sighed. "I don't know, Sam. Have to wait an' see what the cops put on their report in a few hours. Seems Albert Sadler ain't much liked around here."

Sam shook his head as he stood. "I'm going to go back to the diner. See if I can pick up Dean's trail in the light." He grabbed his phone, almost dropping it when it rang. "Dean?"

A sob.

Sam's gut clenched. "Eden?"

"_Sam..."_

"Where are you?"

"_I didn't mean it, I never... I never...I would never..."_

"Eden. Calm down and tell me where you are."

"_I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry."_

Sam's heart started racing at the despair that dripped from Eden's voice. "Eden–"

"_I can't stop, Sam, I'm trying but I can't..."_

"Stop what Eden?"

"_M-me."_

"Eden, where's Dean? Eden? _Eden!_ Dammit!" He resisted the urge to throw the phone across the room.

"What'd she say, Sam?"

He shook his head. "It didn't make any sense," he said and hit the redial button. "Come on, Dean."

* * *

Joel Whittingham stood in the middle of the 'Valley Motel' room, surveying the carnage. Blood had pooled, thick and plenty either side of the bed, and arterial spurts spattered the walls. The man's throat was a mangled mess, torn wide with a savagery he hadn't seen since he'd transferred back home from New York. He shifted his gaze to what remained of the face – unrecognisable – but the hair and physique were familiar.

The second body in as many days. The clothes were missing, like Ella Hudson's; and the phone and wallet, though blood-soaked, were resting neatly on the side-table atop a note. It wasn't a suicide note, not this time, but the writing was the same. One word, over and over – sorry.

Everyone in the room turned when the phone began to ring. Joel hesitated, then took two steps and picked it, noting the caller ID before answering. "It's Detective Whittingham, Sam." He paused, studying the body again. "We need to talk, son."

_**To be continued...**_


	6. Overkill

_A/N: Yep, another chapter up within the week - how 'bout that folks!_

_Disclaimer: As much as I covet the Supernatural universe (I call dibs on the Impala!)__, I have no actual claim on it. This story, and the characters of Eden and the Watchers are all mine. _

* * *

**SHADOWS.  
**

**Chapter Six**

She was … wet. Sticky and wet. She blinked rapidly, squinting against the glare. _Sun. _Outside. That meant she was outside … lying down outside. The grass was cool beneath her and tickled at her arms and feet like a thousand tiny fingers. There was a sweet smell on the air, but another scent lurked beneath, one she felt she should know … and one that had her heart racing and fear coiling in the pit of her stomach.

It was something deep down inside she understood she didn't want to know, didn't want to face, so she concentrated on the sky stretched above her. No clouds stained the heavens, no trees or building impinged on the perfect blue expanse. Her heartbeat slowed, the tension slowly slipping from her shoulders … her arms.

A bird chirped nearby, chirped again, and she smiled at the beautiful simplicity of it. She closed her eyes, soaking in the melody, imagining herself riding the notes into the heavens … to freedom–

The bird screeched.

Her eyes snapped open as the bird took flight; its wings beating loudly against the silence. Her heart pounded, her hands shook. _A__ warning?_ Her head said no, but her gut screamed yes. She rolled carefully onto her stomach and her breath caught in her throat. Her hands …

"No, no, no, no … "

Blood. Her hands were covered with it; it streaked up her arms... stained her t-shirt - red, where it was still wet, and brown where it had dried … and she'd left a crimson halo on the grass.

A sob escaped her. _Not __again, __not __again._ She ripped a handful of grass free and tried to scrub the blood from her skin. The last thing she remembered was... the hand, the shadow-hand... _"__Ignore __the __shadows, __Eden,__ they__ can't__ hurt __you.__"_

_Eden..._her name was Eden. But that voice, achingly familiar, was wrong. She scanned the field around her, but there was only light here. She was safe. For now. She spied a satchel just off to her left. _Clothes. _She needed clean clothes. Opening the bag, tears welled in her eyes as she pulled out the t-shirt … _Zeppelin__ … _

"Dean …"

"_It'll __be __all __right, __Eden,__" _he'd said. But he'd been wrong again. He'd trusted her. He should _never _have trusted her.

_Wrists and ankles bound to the bed, the butt of his pistol slammed into his face again and again and again … bones cracking, teeth smashed … blood, so much blood. Then... then... _

Eden howled, clutching the t-shirt to her. She'd torn Dean's throat out with her teeth.

* * *

"They're not here," Jediah said, leaning against the Impala's hood and beckoning Levi from the motel door.

"Jediah … " Levi sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Samuel and Robert do not know where she is. If they were aware, we would know. It is Eden–"

Jediah raised his hand, turning his head as Zachariah appeared. "What is it?"

"The man's body has been discovered," Zachariah said. "The police are with him, and Samuel and Robert are on their way."

Jediah frowned. "Why? Tell me, Zachariah."

"The detective believes the body is that of Dean," Zachariah said quietly.

"No," Jediah shook his head. "It isn't."

"I … I am not so sure, Jediah," Zachariah whispered.

"Zachariah," Levi put his hand on his brother's shoulder - he should know to whom the body belonged. "Who owned the body?"

"I do not know," he said, his voice tinged with frustration. "There was no lingering essence of his soul, nothing. Nothing but terror and hatred." He paused. "The face was … there is not much left of it, but it was the same height and build as Dean."

"No," Jediah said again. "Eden is Dean's Watcher, she would never raise her hand against him. She would die first." He pushed from the Impala. "I will see for myself."

* * *

Bobby gripped the steering wheel tight, his knuckles straining against his skin. His dread rose with each mile, each mile closer to the Valley Motel. He glanced at Sam; jaw clenched, shoulders bunched, his left leg bounced as he held tight to his phone. Bobby opened his mouth then sighed; what was he going to say to the boy? Everything was going to be all right? It'll all work out–

"It's not him," Sam said.

Bobby said nothing.

"It's not _him,__" _Sam repeated.

Bobby wasn't sure if it was hope that powered the conviction in Sam's voice, or flat-out denial, but either way, what they would discover at the motel would break the boy in ways Bobby didn't want to think about.

"It's a set-up," Sam said, twisting in his seat to look at Bobby. "Just like it was with Ella Hudson."

"You don't know that, Sam," Bobby said quietly. "Let's just–"

"No. Eden wouldn't hurt Dean, _ever, _Bobby, you _know_ that. She's our Watcher–"

"Not any more she ain't," Bobby interrupted. "She hasn't been your Watcher since you boys dissolved Phineas, and Jediah released you from your … whatever the hell it was."

"It doesn't work like that, Bobby," Sam said, anger tingeing his voice. "She's our Watcher, always will be. Look, I know you think she's behind this–"

"'Cause she _is, _Sam. Doesn't matter which way you want to twist it, Eden killed Ella Hudson and tried to pass the body off as her own. Eden _selected_ Ella because–"

"Eden's in trouble," Sam said. "That's all I need to know. And _you _need to understand that she _wouldn't _hurt Dean and _Dean_ wouldn't let Eden get the jump on him."

"You don't know that. You haven't seen her in what? Two years? Who knows what the hell's happened to her in that time."

"Are you _hearing _yourself? This is _Eden _we're talking about!"

Bobby glanced at Sam; he was furious. "Sam–"

"You _listen _to me," Sam seethed. "If you can't get that look off your face, the one that says Dean's dead and Eden did it, you stay in the fucking truck! Dean's fine, I'd _know _if he was gone, and he's _not, _Bobby. So you get that through your head right now, or God help me, I'll beat the look off your face."

Bobby opened his mouth–

"Damn straight I mean it," Sam angered then pointed ahead. "Follow the flashing lights."

"Just so we clear," Bobby said as he steered the truck into the motel's parking lot. "If it ain't Dean, and Sam, I'm hoping to God it isn't, you do _not_ say that it is. You hear me? Don't you go protecting that girl out of some warped sense of–"

"Just park the fucking truck."

* * *

Joel Whittingham was resting against a squad car when Bobby Townshend's beat-up truck was waved through the police cordon. He threw his cigarette to the ground and crushed it beneath his boot-heel. Torn, that's what he was. The two men in the truck knew something about Ella Hudson's death, and they knew more about Eden Young than they were letting on, but the ruined body in the motel room may just be Sam's brother. No matter his personal feelings, protocol had to be adhered.

He pushed from the car; and there was also the possibility, slight though it was, that the body in the room wasn't Dean Hetfield, that it had been a set-up just like Ella Hudson's had been. This time, he'd be playing his cards close to his chest.

He scrutinised the men as they exited the truck. While Sam's step was slow, it held the same determination as the set to his jaw. His eyes were hidden behind sunglasses but tension bunched his shoulders, and his right hand kept twitching toward his body. _He's __carrying. _Why? What had the boy so on edge he felt the need to carry a weapon to a place filled with police?

Bobby was an entirely different beast; the man wore pissed on every part of him. Eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, hands fisted at his sides as he marched forward. But Joel couldn't tell to whom that anger was directed.

"Mr Hetfield. Mr Townshend," Joel nodded.

"Tell us," Bobby said with a curt nod.

"The body was found about an hour ago. Caucasian male, 6ft2," he looked at Sam. "Same build as your brother. His wallet and phone were on the night-stand." Joel shifted his gaze between the two men. "I'm not saying this is your brother, Mr Hetfield, but at the moment, the evidence points that way."

"Like it pointed to Eden," Sam said.

Joel nodded; so Sam wasn't going to side-step the obvious, which meant there was something else at play here. "Does your brother have any tattoos, distinguishing marks, anything that might help me–"

"I'll do it," Sam said.

"Mr Hetfield–"

"I'll _do __it,__" _Sam said through gritted teeth.

The detective nodded slowly then raised his hand. "Before you go in, Mr Hetfield. The … it was a devastating attack."

Sam nodded.

"You're sure it wasn't a suicide?" Bobby asked.

"Positive," the detective answered then focused on Sam again. "Do you understand what I've said, Mr Hetfield?"

"I'm not an idiot," Sam replied and pushed past the detective. He pulled up at the motel door and removed his sunglasses, waiting for his eyes to adjust before turning to one of the nearby cops. "Get everyone out of there," he said with barely concealed anger.

The cop's gaze flicked over Sam's shoulder.

"Don't look at _him,__" _Sam angered. "He's not the one you should be worried about."

"Clear the room," the detective ordered.

"Sam, son," Bobby whispered, taking Sam by the elbow. "Let me–"

"No." Sam shrugged out of Bobby's grasp, waited for the last cop to exit the room then stepped through the doorway. The smell hit him first, stinging his nostrils and bittering his tongue.

"Jesus Christ Almighty," Bobby whispered from behind him.

Sam turned as if in slow motion. Heart racing, his gut clenched as his gaze fell to the body on the bed. Splayed; bound wrists and ankles to the bed posts, the fingertips on each hand had been roughly removed and the face was a caved-in mess of pulp and shattered bone. Blood, so much blood. He shifted his gaze: _arterial __spray__ – _all over the wall and the bedsheets... the blinds... carpet. He returned his attention to the body; the throat was mangled, a hole torn through the windpipe. _Overkill._

Sam took a shallow breath and scanned the body for scars, scars that would tell him if this was Dean. A frown slowly formed on his face as he noted each area that would have held puckered skin from a bullet wound, a thickened pink slash from a knife, a stab wound, had borne the brunt of a frenzied attack – the flesh had been gouged. Sam moved carefully to the other side of the bed. The phone and wallet were bagged and tagged on the side-table. "It's his wallet and phone," Sam said then scanned the room. "No clothes?" When he returned his attention to the detective, the man was studying him.

"Is this your brother, Mr Hetfield?"

"There weren't any clothes?" Sam asked again.

"No," the detective said, his eyes locked to Sam's. "Apart from there being no mistake this is a suicide, it's remarkably similar to Ella Hudson. You have any thoughts on that?"

Sam held the detective's gaze. "You're saying there's a note."

"I'm saying until you confirm whether this is your brother or not, this is starting to look as staged as Ella Hudson."

"What'd the note say?" Bobby asked. He stepped towards the detective when the man refused to answer. "If that note was addressed to me or Sam, you show it–"

"Wasn't addressed to anyone. And I don't have to show you _shit,_ Mr Townshend. I have another body on my hands and it's somehow linked to you two. Now is this your brother, Mr Hetfield?"

"No," Sam said, hoping saying it aloud made it true. "No, it isn't."

* * *

Sam stared out the truck's side window, trying to focus on Dean, but the only image that rose was the beaten and bloodied remnants of the face from the motel room.

"You're sure it's not Dean?" Bobby asked.

"Yes."

"Because the body didn't look like your brothers? Or, because you don't want to believe it?"

Sam spun in his seat; clenching his hands so he didn't lash out Bobby. "Did you think it was Dean? Did you, Bobby?"

Bobby sighed. "I just don't know, Sam," he said softly. "Height and weight were the same … " he shook his head, glanced at Sam then back to the road. "It was the scars, wasn't it? Wasn't it, son?"

Sam finally nodded as he tried to work this through. "Why destroy the scars if you want us to believe it's Dean? You'd leave them, Bobby. With the fingertips missing, destroying the scars makes it look like you're trying to cover the identifying marks, which would _look _like to the police that was _exactly _what you were doing. But why leave the wallet and phone? It's ass-backwards. I mean, everything points to it being Dean–"

"Like everything pointed to Ella Hudson being Eden," Bobby said. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. "So … Eden wanted us to believe she was dead–"

"Eden would know we'd check her back, she'd _know _we'd know it wasn't her. Maybe … maybe … she wanted to … kill herself and … and … " He slammed his hand on the dashboard. "It doesn't make any sense!"

"Easy, son," Bobby calmed. "Let's go back to the diner and see if we can pick up anything in the light."

"The light … " Sam whispered.

"Sam?"

"That's what Eden told the waitress at the diner, that she just wanted to sit in the light," he said, frowning as he remembered the woman's next words.

"What is it, Sam? What else did she say?"

"That when Eden left, the place seemed brighter … like Eden had taken some of the darkness with her."

* * *

Jediah, Levi and Zachariah stood at the far wall of the motel room, watching the police and technicians move around in silence; the only sound, that of the click of the camera as the flash seemed to make the defiled body twitch on the bed.

"There is no essence of the soul here," Levi said. "Not even an inkling of it." He turned to Jediah, a frown on his face. "How can that be?"

"What _do _you sense?" Jediah asked him.

"From where I'm standing? Fear, no, terror." He paused, soaking in what he could. "Rage … powerful rage, and … hatred, an all-consuming hatred."

"What else?" Jediah finally turned his gaze to Levi's. "Close your eyes and tell me what else."

Levi did as instructed, clearing his mind as he waded through the emotions that drowned the air in this room. He could feel the disgust at what had been done from the police in the room, the detachment from one of the technicians … the intelligence and stoic determination to solve this murder from the lead detective …

"Seek it," Jediah whispered in his ear.

Levi deepened his concentration, but it was like walking through a thick mire of mud. The emotions seemed to grab at him, to … drag him away from what he was seeking. He redoubled his efforts, casting the rage and hatred from him. And then he felt it, huddled in the corner of the room, smaller in size than the other emotions … but far more powerful. It was … _hiding. _He frowned; _from__ what? _He snapped his eyes open, when he felt the black pull of hatred seeking him out, following him to it.

Jediah was staring intently at him. "Well?"

"Helplessness … hopelessness … " he paused, "and something else... it... " He closed his eyes, not seeking the emotion this time, he would protect it as it was protecting itself. He shook his head; _love,__ there__ was __love __in __this __room._

Jediah nodded. "The armour that protect us all."

* * *

"Homely," Bobby whispered as he followed Sam into the diner.

"Different waitress," Sam told him. "Get coffee, keep her distracted, I'll see if I can get anything with the EMF."

"I ain't your waiter," Bobby muttered as he went to the counter.

Shielding the EMF with his jacket, Sam moved slowly along the line of booths. _Nothing...__nothing... _He coughed loudly, switching the EMF off when it screeched. He glanced at Bobby as he took a seat in the booth. Eden had sat here last night. He scanned the table-top, not knowing what he was looking for, just … hoping. He looked up when Bobby slid into the booth opposite him.

"Told her you had asthma," Bobby whispered. "So she sat here," he said, studying the area as Sam had.

"Here you go, fellas," the waitress said, placing the coffee in front of them. "Anything else I can getchya? The pie is to die for."

"Aaah, yeah, piece of pie'd be good," Sam said; they needed more time here to see if he could find... find... something.

"Make it two," Bobby smiled as he looked around the diner. "Bit quiet, Lorna."

"You missed the morning rush," she said. "Three whole people, didn't know what to do with myself," she laughed softly. "Back with your pie."

Sam took his wallet from his pants, fumbled with it and dropped it beneath the table. He ducked his head, scanning beneath … and his breath caught in his throat. Snatching his phone from his pocket, he snapped a photo, grabbed his wallet from the floor and sat up as the waitress returned. "Butter fingers," he said with a smile.

"Lemon Meringue," she said. "The other three ate me out of everything else."

Bobby frowned. "They ate all your pie?"

She nodded. "I was wearing that 'xact same expression you are," she said. "Like they hadn't eaten in … forever. Three of the tallest damn men I ever seen, too."

Sam stopped the spoon midway to his mouth. "Tall?"

"Taller than you honey," she said. "And so polite. Don't get that much 'round here."

Sam's heart started racing. "The tall or the polite?"

"Both," she said. "Had to be 6ft6 if theys were an inch, the three of them. Greenest eyes you ever seen, too." She fanned herself. "Didn't know how to flirt worth a damn, though," she winked at Sam.

Sam smiled. "That's their loss, Lorna."

"Ain't that the truth, honey," she turned, swinging her hips as she returned to the counter.

"What?" Sam asked.

Bobby laughed softly. "Nothing, son, nothing."

"Jediah," Sam said around a mouthful of pie. "Has to be."

Bobby nodded. "'Bout time he showed up." He stared out the window. "Damn invisible bastards, they could be standing right outside the window and we'd never know."

Sam smiled. "Better eat your pie then." He spooned in another mouthful. "Begs the question, though, how'd they know this was where Eden was? Or Dean?"

"And if they know where Eden is, why haven't they stopped her? That's the bigger question, Sam."

"There's another scorch mark under the table. Same as the ones in the motel room where Ella Hudson was." He motioned to Bobby's plate. "Eat up." Sam scraped the last of the pie from his plate. "I'm betting ten-to-one there's marks in that Valley Motel room, too. You know what they are?"

"Haven't had time to look into it, boy," Bobby told him. "Been chasing after you and Dean, or been holed up in an interview room." He leaned forward. "We find Dean _first, _then we look into this other shit." He stood; "You're payin'," he said, slipping out of the booth and heading for the door. "And make sure to tip your waitress!" he called over his shoulder.

Bobby squinted against the glare and pulled his cap down a little as he scanned the lot. _Where__ the __hell'd __you__ get __to,__ boy? _He'd noticed the phone booth when they'd pulled in, and he was itching to get to it, but ... start at the beginning, which was the diner, and more of those damn scorch marks. He sighed; Sam was sure Dean had been at the phone booth, and Bobby was sure that was where Eden had … grabbed him. Or, what was more likely, the damn idjit boy had gone willingly with her.

He sighed again as Sam's boots crunched on the gravel behind him. "I am going to kick your brother's ass when we find him."

"You and me both, Bobby," Sam said as they walked towards the booth. "You and me both."

"No phone, no money... how the hell's he gonna get in touch?" Bobby stopped at the booth and checked it carefully. Not that he knew what he was looking for, but there had to be some sign of the boy here, some sign of Eden... hell, just _something._ "Wait up, boy," he said with exasperation as Sam headed into the scrub stretched behind the booth and diner.

"I think she was hiding in here when Dean found her," Sam said.

"Or she jumped him."

"She wouldn't hurt Dean," Sam told Bobby again. "She _wouldn't.__"_

"But she's hurting other people," Bobby said softly. "She's killing people, Sam–"

"Eden does not kill people."

"Jesus H Christ!" Bobby yelped as Jediah appeared in front of him. "Are you _trying_ to give me a heart attack?"

"Jediah," Sam said. "Where's Dean? Where's Eden?"

"I don't know, Sam," he said. "I can't … sense either of them. None of us can. We've been searching for her for almost a year now–"

"_What?__"_ Bobby exclaimed.

"I said–"

"I _heard _what you said. I just can't _understand_ it," Bobby shook his head.

"She's been missing a year and you're only _now _telling us?" Sam asked, trying to keep the anger from his voice. "She's our _friend._ You know–"

"She is your Watcher," Levi said as he appeared beside Jediah.

"Yeah, she's ours and we're hers. _Understand?_" Sam shook his head. "You don't get it, do you? You have your rules and your laws and all the other _bullshit__–" _

"How _dare__–"_

"Let him speak," Jediah said as he raised his hand, stopping Levi.

Sam stepped towards Jediah. "If Eden's in trouble you _tell_ us. You owe us that much at least!"

"I do not owe you anything, Sam," Jediah said calmly.

"No? If it weren't for Eden and Dean, I'd be dead and Phineas would be running your … " he waved his hand in the air, "whatever the hell it is you call home. Right from the _beginning _Eden knew he was behind it and the only one who listed to her apart from us was Selah. Eden vanished from you because she doesn't think she can trust anyone there–"

"She did not call you either, Sam," Jediah said.

"No, but at least I called her. Every week for two years. She may not have answered but she knew I called. She _knew _we still cared. What did you do?"

"All right," Bobby said, stepping between them. "How 'bout we focus on the now. Dean's missing and we want to know where he is."

"I don't know where he is," Jediah said, "I explained."

"You haven't explained a damn thing," Bobby said. "You're still talking in riddles after all this time."

"We do not speak in riddles," Levi said. "We are as ... perplexed as you are."

"Perplexed?" Bobby glared. "Well let me get you up to speed." Bobby put his hands on his hips and stared up at Jediah. "Eden killed a woman named Ella Hudson," he raised his hand when Jediah opened his mouth. "I ain't finished. The _murder, _'cause that's what it was, was staged and made to look like Eden. That's why me and the boys were called here, 'cause as far as anyone's concerned, we're all she's got. So we haul ass to this shitty town to identify her body. Yay for us, 'cause that's just what we needed, seeing someone we _believed_ was Eden splattered all over the headboard. I said _let__ me __finish. _Eden rings Dean and she's scared as all hell, that's right _scared._ I only knew the girl a few days, but one thing I know is she don't scare easy." Bobby raised his hand. "You open your mouth one more time _Levi, _I will put you on your ass." He returned his attention to Jediah. "Dean found her and now he's missing too. Then, 'lo and behold, _another _body turns up that matches Dean almost perfectly, but it ain't Dean – it's been staged just like Ella Hudson, and that cop knows it just as well as we do. So we've got the thin blue line so far up our asses, if we somehow miraculously find either of them, we won't be able to do _shit_ for them. Comprende?"

"Robert–"

"It's _Bobby,_" Bobby told Levi. "And another thing, if you don't find Eden, she's going to keep killing." He cocked his head. "What's the body count?"

"Tell us," Sam said when both men were silent. "We're in this, whether you like it or not, we're _in _this, so you tell us what we're up against." Sam took his phone from his pocket. "What's this? It was in both motel rooms with the bodies, and in the diner where Eden sat. It's connected to her, we know it is."

Jediah shifted his gaze from the phone to Sam's gaze. "Shadows," Jediah said. "They are the marks of Shadows."

"Shadows? What the hell are you talkin' about?" Bobby demanded.

"Daevas," Levi said. "You know them as Daevas, and they will destroy Eden and everyone she comes into contact with if we don't find her."

* * *

He was cold, wet, and the pounding in his head wouldn't stop. He opened his eyes, blinked, blinked again. He waited, listening for any movements, the deceptive breath of another, but he was alone. There was nothing but darkness here. He raised his hand to his head, finding the lump at the back of it. He'd been cold-cocked... _Eden__ … _huddled in the bushes, tears streaming down her face, her whole body shaking and covered in blood.

"_I __killed __them, __I__ killed __them, __I__ killed __them.__" _She'd kept saying. He'd never forget the look in her eyes when she'd stared up at him.

He'd told her everything would be okay, he'd look after it, and she'd shaken her head and begged him to kill her. _"__I've__ tried,__" _she'd said, _"__again __and __again __and __again __but __they __won't __let __me!__" _

She'd scampered from him and he'd leapt at her... and... and... _dammit! _He wracked his brain, tried to force the memory, but he couldn't get past his leap at Eden. He pushed himself into a sitting position and groaned as the pounding in head increased. A couple of deep breaths and it seemed to ease, but his heart began to hammer when something shifted–lightning quick–on his periphery.

Another dark flash on his left. One on his right.

He wasn't alone.

The Shadows were here.

_**To be continued...**_


End file.
